Discovering Beauty
by laurielove
Summary: Four years after the war, a chance encounter with a wizard Hermione hoped never to see again leads her to question her life and discover things about herself she had kept deeply buried. HG/LM. A tale of discovery. Older readers only, please.
1. One: Encounter

**This was the first story I posted on this site, although I had been writing other things for a while. I'm fascinated with Lucius/Hermione and have since written many more stories. But this is where it all started for me, and this is still what I consider to be my definitive story. Having said that, I read it now and I cringe in places. The grammar needs to be much tighter, things which I have since sorted in my other work, and ... now I'm being too hard on myself. I'll shut up ... Anyway, I hope you all enjoy what I've produced. There is a lot of eroticism ahead, but not before we build up the tension meaningfully (I hope!).**

**THIS STORY HAS JUST WON FIRST RUNNER UP IN THE LJ SMUTASTICS AWARDS 2010 FOR BEST HET! I AM THRILLED ABOUT THIS AND THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR WONDERFUL SUPPORT!**

**Clearly, but depressingly, I own none of these characters - JK Rowling has that privilege. Enjoy! **

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Hermione Granger perused the bookshelves of an almost deserted Flourish and Blotts with her usual intense and focused manner. She was searching for a very specific title which had eluded her for weeks and she had heard that someone may have sold an old copy back to the shop. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with frustration at the owner's inability to keep it back for her rather than return it to the maze of shelves which lined every wall and corridor. She had after all, specifically asked him to. Other people's incompetence never ceased to amaze her, and it seemed to be getting worse as she got older.

It was nearly four years since she, Harry and the others had defeated Voldemort. Four years since her imprisonment and torture at Malfoy Manor. The world was now a safe, happy place, largely thanks to her. Yes, she had suffered, but it had been worth it. Now it was all over. Life was good.

So people kept telling her.

Her reputation had secured her a good job at the Ministry, working closely with Kingsley Shacklebolt, still Minister of Magic. The public adulation and interest had initially been intense. The media circus, parties and functions, even she had to admit, had been fun. Ron especially had enjoyed it all and it made her believe that they had grown even closer. The social whirl had at least helped her cope with the persistent fingers of darkness which poked at her, invading her waking hours and haunting her dreams. But after a few months, public interest had waned, and although the respect and admiration of her fellows remained and she still drew glances and whispers in Diagon Alley, life had returned to relative normality.

She and Ron had settled into what she thought must be a typical life as a couple. They had, in the last few months, finally moved in to a small flat together. However, his job as a Quidditch consultant and occasional player meant he was away a lot, and Hermione's workaholic tendencies were still a source of frustration for him. But on the rare occasions they did take time to be together properly, it was good. They were still happy, Hermione affirmed.

As she scrutinised the shelves her head twinged and her eyes blurred. She rubbed them distractedly, reminded of yet another disrupted night's sleep. Closing her eyes wearily, she rested her forehead briefly against the shelf. She had not had an unbroken night's sleep for as long as she could remember. Not that she necessarily wanted one. As much as she longed for it to take away her exhaustion at night, sleep was an unsettling time, inevitably disturbed by the darkest of memories and nightmares. She dreaded the night.

She had been looking for the book for at least three quarters of an hour in the various locations it could have been, with no success, the shopkeeper being distinctly unhelpful. The precious lunch hour the Ministry granted her was fast disappearing and as her stomach groaned petulantly, she realised with annoyance that she would have to eat something before returning to her desk. Her weight loss had been noted by friends and workmates, and commented on almost spitefully by Ron. However, sense made her agree with them and pride made her want to silence them. She had a hectic afternoon ahead of her and needed food. She had often wondered why being a witch did not allow one the power to avoid hunger, fatigue, desire, and other human frailties. Life would be so much simpler without them. "Yeah, but boring as hell," Harry would have countered no doubt. She smiled slightly to herself.

Hermione sighed and let her hand drop from the shelf she was scanning. She would have to abandon her quest for now. She had only been in her job for eight months and had done little but impress. She had no desire to allow any bad habits which would inevitably be noted to creep in. Tardiness was frowned on in the department and her ingrained respect for authority died hard. In any case, she lacked the energy or inclination to concentrate further. She bent down to gather her things.

She was distracted by the clatter of the doorbell and a voice talking loudly, echoing suddenly and intrusively into the silence of the shop. Her headache intensified and she sighed at other people's insensitivity. But as the voice pierced her psyche, she stopped dead. A cold chill froze her to the spot.

It was a voice Hermione recognised all too well. A voice she had not heard for nearly four years; that of Draco Malfoy.

"My trial period is nearly over. It will be impossible for them to refuse me a position after this, as you well know."

Hermione could not move. A wave of nausea swept over her and she clung to the shelves, her head swimming. She cursed herself for reacting like this. The Malfoys had disappeared from the public eye for nearly two years after the war. They had been spared Azkaban due to their apparently genuine repentance, validated by Harry himself, although it was rumoured they were kept under close Ministry surveillance and were on a programme of 'rehabilitation' of some sort. But recently it was clear that they were re-emerging into society, having been spotted at several high-profile functions, albeit rarely, if ever, together. Hermione realised it had been only a matter of time before she would meet Draco, and was shocked and angry with herself for not being better prepared mentally. Closing her eyes she let out a silent curse. Why did it have to be now? She needed to get back. Did it have to happen at a moment when she neither had the time nor the emotional fortitude to deal with it?

She contemplated waiting, but time was slipping away rapidly and she had no way of knowing how long Draco would be. She resolved to walk out, greet him briefly but politely if they passed and move on. Composing herself enough to stop her head from spinning, and taking a deep breath, she slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried down the stairs, holding her head as high as she could.

Draco saw her almost immediately, his look of discomfort fleeting but clear. His expression was replaced almost immediately by a shadowy reminder of his old sneer, but Hermione noted it had lost most of its arrogant bitterness. Draco owed Hermione and her friends his life. Common courtesy was the least he could offer.

"Granger. It's been a long time." The words were pulled out of his throat, but were spoken with integrity.

"Hello, Draco. Are you well?" Hermione found herself meaning the question. Her use of his first name surprised them both. She made an effort to look at him and as she met his cold eyes, she saw that they had lost the malicious spark they had always exhibited at Hogwarts. It had been replaced by a grey emptiness that she found less aggressive but equally disconcerting.

"Yes. Very well. I am about to start a consultancy job at Gringott's on the foreign currency desks." His voice was full of mock confidence, but although the tone reminded Hermione of the old Draco, it lacked any of its former conviction or assurance. Malfoy continued as forcefully as possible, "It was promised me when I was still at school. It has been nearly four years now since..." He left his words hanging. Neither of them wished to be reminded of the events of that time. He glanced away. Silence enveloped them both briefly, but heavily. Then he lifted his eyes back to Hermione. "How are you?" Hermione sensed a genuine query in his voice.

A riot of emotions flooded her. This boy ... man ... who had tormented her throughout school, and then been so nearly responsible for her and her friends' deaths, suddenly and unexpectedly so close; his physical proximity triggered her darkest memories. But looking into his eyes and seeing the life gone out of them, her sense of decency could not abandon her and she felt just as acutely the pain he must have gone through, was evidently still going through. Time had passed.

Forgive and forget. Forgive and forget. The words echoed in her head, sounding hollow and clichéd, but appealing to her ethical code nonetheless. She straightened up and spoke as clearly as she could.

"I'm very well, Draco. Thank you. You are looking ... fine ... I must go ... get back to the Ministry. Perhaps we'll meet again soon ... Goodbye."

It was not enough to stem the tide of desolation that was welling up inside her. She needed to get out. The memories now flooding her senses were suffocating her. She backed away from Draco towards the door, panic rising inside her.

She was stopped abruptly in her progress by a tall, solid, immovable object, causing her to gasp and jolt forward. She spun around to see what had impeded her exit. Her eyes fell on the blackest, most finely-tailored robes she had ever seen and she breathed in deeply in shock. A smell filled her senses, making her head spin more wildly. It was a deeply sensuous smell of musk and aromatic spices. A smell so intoxicating, she instinctively grasped the robes in front of her for support. She unavoidably inhaled deeply once again, trying to clear her head of the swirling dizziness that engulfed it, but inadvertently taking in more of that scent, that scent she had only previously encountered in times of the deepest peril, pain and despair. The scent, and the robes that she was now clutching, could belong to only one wizard. The wizard present at her own torture and agony, complicit in it all. The wizard she had hoped never to see again.

The inevitable loomed over her. She raised her head, up past the solid torso, the broad shoulders, slowly but ultimately towards the gaze she knew she would meet. She looked straight into the frozen grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

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**I still adore and appreciate all reviews and thank you all for taking the time to write something. I will try to get back to you all personally, although that is not always possible these days due to time restrictions.**


	2. Two: Memories

**I couldn't resist - here's chapter two already!! I have a feeling chapter three will follow pretty soon too - we need to know what's happening in Hermione's head!! I still own none of the characters - grrr! Thanks for all the interest - hope you enjoy what will happen in the next few chapters. Review if you can, please please - it keeps me happy!!**

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Two - Memories

Hermione's brown eyes locked with Lucius Malfoy's piercing grey ones. He held her stare unblinkingly. She felt as if his gaze would penetrate right through her skull and into her mind itself. The intensity of his stare was almost painful. The ache in her head grew stronger, but try as she might she could not tear her eyes away from his. The iciness of his eyes seemed to transmit to her blood, which she could suddenly feel coursing fast but frozen round her limbs. She seemed unable to move or think, but then from somewhere far away something penetrated her consciousness. She could hear screaming, distant at first but then louder and shriller. Screaming which rent the air in its agony and helplessness. Forcing concentration to return to her senses, Hermione realised she was listening to her own screams, screams of fear and agony from all those years ago in the house belonging to the man now standing in front of her. Time had stopped. She knew it. She was helpless.

"Miss Granger. Pleasant as our sudden and unexpected reacquaintance is, I would appreciate you relinquishing your grasp on my person. I would not want the material crushed."

Lucius spoke with his familiar smooth drawl, the usual sarcastic undertones present but surprisingly muted. His deep mellifluous tones finally brought Hermione back to her senses and she looked down to find her knuckles white from her grip on the front of his robes. She pulled her hands away as if burned, and took several steps back. She was breathing fast, and fearing she may pass out from this sudden assault on her senses, she moved as rapidly as she could towards the door. Head down, she dared not, nor wished to glance up again at the man who had caused this inner turmoil. But before she could pass him, he raised his cane swiftly to a 90 degree angle, blocking her path. Familiar, sickening terror once again swept over her. She stopped stock still, unable to move, staring straight ahead, willing him to let her pass.

Nothing happened for what seemed like an age. His scent once more filled her nostrils, making her reel. It grew stronger and she was aware that he had stepped close to her again. He lowered his cane and held it high up near the head. But still she found herself unable to move. He stepped towards her yet again and leaned in. Every nerve was on edge and she became aware of each hair on her body standing straight out. Her breathing came hard and fast, and he was now so close that she felt his breath mingling with hers in the thick air between them.

He slowly raised his cane and with it, pushed her hair back from around her ear. She flinched slightly, then stopped herself. She would not, dared not, show him her naked fear. She had beaten him before, she would do so again. The heady smell of him hung heavy in the air around them, intensifying still as he leant slowly in, bringing his mouth within a breath of her ear. She closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it.

"Miss Granger," his voice purred in her ear, "I am disappointed that you speak so amicably to my son, yet do not afford me the same courtesy. I would expect better of you. Four years is a long time. Forgive and forget, Miss Granger, forgive and forget."

She spun her head quickly in shock at hearing the words which had echoed around her head earlier, repeated so intimately in her ear by Lucius Malfoy. Her eyes locked with his once again, searching them for an explanation, and she felt her senses burning. But this time her fortitude was fired and without a word she turned from him and strode out of the shop.

She walked with composure past the window, but once around the corner from Flourish and Blotts, her pace quickened and she was soon sprinting as far away from the bookshop as she could get. She spun into a quiet alleyway and slowed to a jog. Her lungs were bursting and her muscles shocked by the sudden activity. Her legs gave way and she collapsed against the wall, as her mental resolve also dissolved and hot tears came fast in thick gasping sobs. Her head back against the brickwork, she arched her neck as her body was wracked with exhaustion, emotionally and physically. Her gasps of despair echoed up through the high buildings of the alleyway, her young fragile body shaking uncontrollably.

Eventually, after what seemed an age, she was able to tune back into herself and became aware properly for the first time of her surroundings. She was sitting in a dirty, damp back street, which had probably not been cleaned for weeks. Harsh reality dawned and Hermione forced herself to stand up, inspecting her clothes and finding them crumpled and soiled.

"Shit," she groaned. She couldn't tell how much time had passed, but it felt like hours. She had been due back at the Ministry at 2 o'clock. How was she now supposed to return, late and in a state of disarray? Still, her innate sense of duty kicked in. She would have to go back and offer some sort of explanation.

When she finally got back to the Ministry, she quickly popped into the toilets and tried to make herself as presentable as possible, resorting to using a cleansing charm, although using magic to cover her shame seemed cheap. She leaned heavily against the basin and stared into the mirror. Just then, her abdomen cramped painfully, reminding her viciously that she had eaten nothing all day. She forced her body to ignore the protest from her stomach, straightening herself and meeting her own eyes boldly in the mirror. Her puffy, tear-stained face had recovered on the walk back, and on entering her department, she appeared as composed as she had at 9 o'clock that morning.

She couldn't fail to notice the glances as she walked in nearly two hours late, however. And as she passed the rows of desks, her face flushed red and her jaw stiffened. She entered her office swiftly and shut the door immediately behind her, leaning against it briefly with closed eyes before sitting down at her desk and assembling her copious amounts of paperwork in front of her.

In a strange way, she was grateful for the embarrassment her tardiness had evoked. It served at least to quell the maelstrom of emotions she had experienced. She at last found herself able to subdue the shock and pain of earlier and forced herself to focus on her work, waiting for the inevitable questions which would be asked regarding her lateness.

It didn't take long. She had only been working for five minutes when there was a polite but clear knock at the door. She sighed slightly, not sure what she would say, then lifted her head and called as cheerily as possible, "Come in."

It was Ormus Snipworth, her immediate boss, a look of slight bemusement on his face. "Hi, Hermione. Can I have a word please?"

"Of course, sit down."

"Ummm...I'm OK standing thanks....it's just that we noticed you didn't return when you said you would after lunch. I was just wondering..."

"Sorry. I'm really, really sorry," she blurted her words out, feeling like a Second Year again, caught by McGonagall out of bounds, and she spoke as such, not allowing Ormus to finish his inquiry. "It won't happen again. It was a mistake. I found myself in a position I....." She stopped, unsure how to continue. She didn't want to make excuses, but equally wanted to express the extraordinary nature of her tardiness.

Ormus spoke, stepping further into the room, increased concern evident in his voice. "Hermione, are you alright? I'm sure you have a good explanation for your late arrival. You don't have to tell me. And anyway, you are allowed to take extended lunch breaks from time to time, as long as you ask in advance. I'm sure it won't happen again – it's not like you after all. Your work so far, as we fully expected, has been exceptional. I'm not having a go. I just wanted to know you're OK." He paused. "Are you?"

Hermione smiled up at him. Part of her thought she would once more burst into tears and blurt out the whole sad story of how a brief chance encounter with one man and his son had reduced her to an uncontrollable wreck and reawakened her deepest insecurities. But she managed not to. Her smile persisted and she replied in a remarkably self-assured voice, "Oh, I'm fine, Ormus, there's no need to worry. I just got waylaid by something that is over and done with now. I can assure you it will not happen again and I am deeply sorry it happened today."

Ormus smiled and nodded slowly. She wasn't sure he was convinced, and was relieved when he finally turned and headed out of her door. He leaned back in just before departing and commented, "If you ever want to chat..."

"Thank you!" she laughed with mock insouciance.

Once the door was shut she slumped her head into her hands and shook it slowly. _Come on, Hermione, get a grip,_ she thought. Straightening her papers once more, she sat up and focused intently on the words in front of her. She knew she could always rely on words to distract her from the world around her.

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**Hmm ... I think it will take more than that to distract Hermione - it is Lucius after all! What did you think? Let me know. Chapter three up soon! x**


	3. Three: Distractions

**Thank you to everyone for reviews and interest - it is so appreciated. Here's the next chapter and I promise chapter four will be up later in the day! After this they start to get longer!! Hermione's all alone while Ron's away - although somehow the events of the day cannot be shaken off - I wonder why? All characters are JK Rowling's etc. Enjoy!**

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Three - Distractions

Intent on the real world at last, the final hours of work went by swiftly and it wasn't until late that Hermione looked up and realised that it had grown dark outside. She rose and crossed to her door. Opening it, she found that all her fellow-workers had gone and the Ministry elves had started their cleaning routine. They glanced up at her with thinly disguised annoyance on their faces. The elves liked to get on with their work in solitude. The Granger girl was always the last to leave, distracting them from their tasks nearly every night.

Hermione realised when she wasn't welcome and quickly returned to her office, gathered her things and headed out of the Ministry. If she could have stayed at work all night she would have. Ron was away at Durmstrang's on a coaching meeting for a week and the flat would be empty and lonely without him. Ginny and Harry were always there if she needed them, but she had been round to Grimmauld Place only last night and knew they would appreciate an evening to themselves. However, tonight of all nights, she was dreading the dark closing in around her and the ceaseless nightmares it would inevitably bring.

She and Ron rented a magical flat concealed in a beautiful mews terrace in Chelsea. In the muggle world it would have cost a fortune, and to a normal witch or wizard would hardly have been cheap, but Hermione and Ron had secured it at a steal due to who they were. Hermione had fundamental issues with this, feeling as if she should not be granted favours due to her name, and grovelled gratefully to their landlady whenever she saw her, but Ron insisted it was her idea and told Hermione to stop complaining and enjoy it.

As she approached the mews, the two houses on either side groaned apart, and the house containing her landlady's and her flat appeared. The occupants of the adjoining houses were utterly unaware of the shifting masonry around them. Hermione smiled ruefully as she always did, slightly guilty of her duplicitous nature towards her ignorant muggle neighbours.

She waved her wand over the lock, mumbling an unlocking spell, opened the door and after closing it heavily behind her, walked wearily up the stairs to her flat. It was dark and felt rather cold inside, although Hermione supposed this was due to her barren emotional state, rather than the reality of the temperature.

She immediately put on some muggle music to try to distract and ease her mind. The velvet tones of Ella Fitzgerald brought some welcome company to Hermione. "You do something to me, something that simply mystifies me..." Hermione crooned along briefly. The mood lightened and she felt engaged enough to go to the fridge, assemble some cold chicken and salad on a plate and sit and eat it dispassionately at the kitchen table.

As she washed up, fatigue swept over her. She had successfully avoided thinking of the day's events until now, but knew that, despite her desperate need for sleep, her thoughts would be haunted by the torment as soon as she lay down.

God, how she wished Ron was there. He would prattle on about Quidditch and bore her senseless no doubt, but he would be a comfort and a distraction. She wanted him to hold her tight to him and stroke away the pain and the memories, as he had done so often in the past.

She yawned long and deep. It was no use; she would have to go to bed. As slowly as she could, she washed, undressed, got into the silk nightwear Ron had given her as a birthday present, climbed into bed and turned off the light.

The darkness enveloped her profoundly and she felt more alone than ever, listening intently to her own breathing.

She tried to empty her mind. Switch off. _Switch off._ Advice she gave herself every night. It never worked.

She lay in the darkness. Her eyes were wide open and searching the room, but there was not a pinprick of light to be seen. She heard her own steady breathing and felt the rush of cool air through her nostrils as she exhaled. Without sight to aid them, her other senses grew ultra-alert. She could hear her heart beating, just as she had heard it earlier in the day.

The sheets felt cool under her and her skin tingled. She let her hands wander idly down over her firm flat belly, feeling the smooth silk of her camisole. She gathered it up in her hand, the sensation of the material under her fingertips reminding her of the smooth, heavy material she had grasped earlier that day; the robes of Lucius Malfoy.

She gripped the fabric of her nightwear firmly, remembering the texture of his fine Italian weave. As her hands moved over her belly, the soft material caressing her smooth skin, she felt in her mind his firm torso under her hands and the way his muscles had offered solid resistance to the pressure she had exerted in her need to steady herself.

She inhaled deeply, his smell returning again to her consciousness, that peculiar mix of musk and spice that was uniquely him. But this time no painful memory was triggered, only the heavy sensuousness of the aroma remained, so that she almost believed he was in the room next to her. Why did she not feel threatened? Her mind neither allowed her, nor desired an answer.

Every one of her senses was alive and every nerve ending tingled. Her hands unknowingly continued stroking her belly, languorously moving up over breasts, brushing her nipples as they went. She was hardly aware of what she was feeling, lying in bed, entirely reliving the physical presence of her bitter enemy. A fragment in the recesses of her mind waited for the pain to come, as it had earlier, but it did not. The image, feel and scent of Malfoy remained just as firmly in her mind, but stayed only as she had witnessed him earlier, standing and whispering in such close proximity to her. _God, why did she suddenly feel so alive? _

Hermione sat bolt upright as the shock of this realisation hit her. What was she doing? Cold reality crashed down and she hurried out of bed to the bathroom. She reached feverishly for the light and gasped in relief when its harsh brightness flooded the tiled room. Grabbing urgently at the taps, she turned on the water and splashed her face repeatedly.

Her breathing slowed and she felt normality returning to her body. She at last raised her head and looked shamefully into the mirror. What the hell was that all about?

_No._

She would not acknowledge explicitly the reality of the emotional and physical response she had just had, and what, or who, had triggered it. She had been exhausted and distressed and emotions are always heightened in the dark, she told herself. Standing chilly under the glaring bathroom light helped her to refocus. She felt her nerves settle and her heartbeat slow.

Still, she could not shake Lucius Malfoy completely from her mind, and found herself replaying the words he had spoken to her during their encounter. She had avoided thinking about them all day, for fear of what it might reawaken, but now she was relieved to have some mental activity to engage in, rather than the extreme sensual feelings which had previously overtaken her.

He had seemed almost genuinely disappointed that she had treated him with such disregard. Was he truly? She could not believe it. But why bother to mention it? Why not use the occasion for another swipe at a dirty little mudblood? And why point out that it had been four years since their last encounter? Had he changed? _Could_ he change? Did he want her to care if he had? And did he really expect forgiveness? Why did he use the exact words she had been thinking moments earlier? He had almost read her mind.

All these questions and thoughts flooded her head. She returned to bed reluctantly, and, as was her wont, she lay awake for what seemed hours analysing and examining the details of the encounter. It wasn't until near dawn that her feverish mind at last asked the one question which hung over it all: Why had she had such extreme reactions to _Lucius_ Malfoy?

She had seen Draco as well, and that had been bad enough, but it was Lucius who had triggered her near breakdown and it was Lucius who had possessed her mind and senses tonight. Yes, he had been present at the most heinous time of her life and she had hoped never to see him again, but she had coped with pain and threat before with much more fortitude. She was ashamed and confused at her inexplicable reaction. Her mind hurt thinking about it.

Eventually, sleep did claim her. When she awoke the next day, she could recall no nightmares, and she was determined to set about her day with a clear head.

But wherever she went, an aroma of spicy musk remained.

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**You bet it did! **

**Let me know what you thought if you have a moment! x**


	4. Four: Awakenings

**As promised, here's chapter four already!! Keep the comments coming - I do so love reading them and knowin' all me 'ard work ain't been in vain!! Pretty please!!**

**Now - warning - smut ahead- although probably not quite what you're hoping for!! Sorry!! I have to get inside Hermione's head and show you how unfulfilling her life actually is - although she doesn't quite realise it yet - foolish girl - it's b****y obvious to me! So, I'm afraid there's some Hermione/Ron action in this chapter - eeeekkkkkk! It is so important to the story and hopefully gives you a glimmer of what may (!?) be to come with the 'right' person!! All in good time ....**

**Enjoy! (Oh by they way, I still don't own any of these characters! Although I am quite happy not to own Ron.)**

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Four – Awakenings

It had been four days since Hermione had met the Malfoys in Flourish and Blotts. She told herself that she was over it and put her extraordinary reaction down to shock and exhaustion. As the days had passed she had successfully managed to wipe it from her mind and set about busying herself with work and preparing for Ron to come back. She had been feeling his absence acutely and was desperate for his presence to fill the hollow emptiness of the flat. She was sure that her longing for his return was due to her love for him, although noted clinically that when Harry or Ginny had visited, her mood had equally lightened and her loneliness had been assuaged.

But, no, she asserted, it was Ron she wanted and needed most, Ron whom she wanted to hold her at night to push back the oppressive dark. She would kiss him, reassure him she loved him.

Reassure herself.

The nights had been difficult, but she was so determined not to allow her mind to wander back to the earlier events, that she had survived them surprisingly easily. There had certainly been no repeat of the bizarre sensual feelings she had experienced that night. However, she longed for physical contact more than ever, and found herself reaching down to the sweet, tender bud between her thighs every evening. She had never felt the need for this before, instead reading or finishing off paperwork before trying to sleep. As Ron was the only one she had ever had intimate knowledge of, it was his face she conjured up as she coaxed herself towards her moment of release. Her orgasm would come with a gentle moan, but she noted with slight shame that at the moment of sweetest pleasure Ron's face would invariably fade.

When at work, Hermione had been overly conscientious and diligent, determined to impress. She had no wish to repeat the episode of earlier in the week. Her camaraderie with her workmates was good and she enjoyed the rigour and intensity of being in Ministry employ.

On Thursday evening, Ron was due to return, and by 2pm that day Hermione found herself clock-watching and counting down the minutes until he would apparate back to London. He was due to return to a modest corner of Diagon Alley and for once at 5pm sharp, Hermione tidied her desk, said her farewells, and hurried out of the Ministry towards the location.

She reached the spot quickly and glanced at her watch. Five minutes. She paced a few steps, turning rapidly and repeating the process several times. Then, at exactly the appointed time, she heard a pop behind her, and spun around to see a weary but relieved looking Ron standing laden with bags. She flung herself around his neck and showered him with kisses. The force knocked him back in surprise and he dropped half his belongings. "Steady on, 'Mione," he gasped, but quickly a broad smile broke out over his face. "Take it you missed me then," he muttered in her ear between chuckles.

Hermione grasped his head firmly in her hands and pulled him down towards her for a passionate kiss. As pleased as he was, Ron was rather unsure as to what had got into his girlfriend and after a short while pulled back and broke away. He was even more shocked when he saw tears streaming down Hermione's face.

"Hey, babe, what's the matter? It's only been a week. I've been away for much longer before. What's got into you?"

Still clasping the sides of his face Hermione said, "I just missed you. I just missed you so much." She looked him deep in the eyes, searching them. Ron, bemused, smiled back. Eventually she lowered her gaze and muttered, "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah. 's' good to be back too." Ron paused briefly, thrown by the intensity of her emotion. Then, almost embarrassed, resorted to his usual self. "Come on, babe, let's go home. I'm bloody starving. What's for dinner?" He slung his bags over his back and an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close to him. Hermione smiled to herself and rested her head on him as they walked together back to the flat.

Over supper, which Hermione had carefully prepared the night before, they chatted happily, Ron telling her about his trip and filling her in on the new code of conduct for Quidditch umpires. Hermione spoke little during the meal, letting him rumble on, happy to have living words filling the flat again. He was happy and although it had tired him, had obviously enjoyed his trip. His good humour spread to Hermione, who at that moment believed she was happier than she had been for ages. Now that Ron was back, she could truly forget the events of earlier in the week and start living again.

After washing, she went to the bedroom before Ron and chose her red silk cami and pants. She climbed under the covers and waited for him. He was longer than she expected, but eventually entered the room, yawning loud and long. When he noticed what she was wearing he looked vaguely startled. "Blimey, Hermione! You haven't worn those for a while. I'd forgotten you had them." He may have commented on her attire, but it did not seem to be having the desired effect. He got into bed, kissed her lightly on the cheek then rolled away from her and settled down.

Hermione lay staring at the ceiling, a feeling of frustration and annoyance starting to creep upon her. But her mood had been so good tonight, that she quickly banished it. She could not remember the last time she had initiated sex, but tonight would be different. Turning towards him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Ron?"

"Hmm?" he mumbled back.

He wore only boxers in bed and his back, although prodigiously freckled and more slender than some, was firm and toned, as you would expect of a Quidditch player. She ran two fingertips tenderly over his shoulder then slowly down the centre of his back, enjoying the feel of the muscles under her skin and noting each vertebra as she edged down his spine.

This eventually elicited a response, and Ron dragged himself over to look at her. "'Mione?" he queried, as though at a loss to know what she was doing. She raised herself up on one elbow and bent her head down to place a warm kiss on his abdomen. He exhaled audibly and she continued planting supple kisses over his stomach, ever more firmly as she slowly but surely worked her way up his chest. As she reached a nipple, she caught one briefly between her lips, causing a slight hiss to escape from Ron's mouth. She raised herself up further and paused to look into his eyes.

He held her gaze, a look of astonishment etched on his face. Hermione bent her head forward, pressing her lips to his. At first, he gave no response, but her passion was infectious and he soon moved his lips under hers, opening her mouth with his. His tongue flickered in. _Gods, she tasted good_. He'd forgotten how good she tasted. Hermione joined his tongue with her own and opened her mouth further, urging him to plunder her. Their tongues mingled violently, but she did not pull back, only responded with increased passion. He was amazed at the intensity of her desire and it fuelled his own. He grasped the back of her head, curling his fingers into her hair and moved over her, turning her onto her back so that he could now assault her hot sweet mouth with renewed vigour. Ron's technique was sloppy and far from subtle, and Hermione giggled slightly into his mouth, but her physical need was so great that she continued to open to him.

She reached up and gripped his back, feeling the muscles harden under her touch. He broke from her for a breath and she moaned slightly at the loss of his mouth on hers. Panting, he looked down at her, unsure how to react to this new woman in his bed, not that he was complaining. Hermione arched her back and a groan escaped her lips. She longed for him to touch her again. She felt her nerve endings aflame, reigniting a vague memory. With her back arched, her breasts and nipples were cooled in the night air and she desperately wanted him to touch, rub, taste them.

Ron gazed down her body towards the apex of her thighs and couldn't believe what he saw.

"Hermione. You're touching yourself." He sounded so shocked, a brief flush of embarrassment moved over Hermione, but it quickly passed. Instead, she quickly wriggled out of her pants, took his hand and guided it down to her centre, replacing her hand with his. Ron had never been any good at foreplay, but now she knew exactly what she needed.

He wasn't sure how to proceed; he had never known Hermione to behave like this, but he was rock hard and he wanted her to be ready for him. He gingerly fingered her soft folds, unsure and clumsy. He was nowhere near the spot she wanted but her body burned so much that it didn't matter. Another groan escaped her lips. The sound transmitted itself straight to Ron's groin and he knew he wouldn't last much longer.

He rubbed inexpertly a few more times, causing Hermione to arch up towards his fingers, willing them towards the right spot. But just as she expected to feel a swell of pleasure, he withdrew his hand and quickly positioned himself over her. Grabbing her hip clumsily with one hand, he held his throbbing member with the other and thrust into her suddenly. She had been wet with anticipation for some time, but the sudden loss of his fingers from near that sensitive bud, and his hurried and unexpected penetration caused resentment to bubble up inside her.

As much as she wanted him, the manner in which he had entered her made her passion subside and she became quite passive under him as he thrust erratically into her. Ron didn't seem to notice the sudden dampening of her lust and she knew he wouldn't last long. He didn't, as with a few more poorly aimed jerks, he came messily inside her, collapsing heavily onto her with a groan of her name.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione," he panted, still lying heavily on top of her. "What's got into you? Give me a bloody heart attack, you will." Eventually, she felt his flaccid member slip out of her, but still he didn't move.

She lay under him, staring at the ceiling. Her mind was empty. Frustration swept through her body, but she stopped it entering her thoughts. She was happy to have Ron back. They had had a lovely evening. The sex was no worse than it had been before.

Her limbs ached to the point of cramp setting in and she longed for him to move off her. She touched him tentatively and whispered, "Ron?" A snore rose up from the body slumped over her. She sighed deeply and with a huge effort pushed him off her. He mumbled incoherently, snorted and went immediately back to sleep.

Hermione lay there immobile for several more minutes, mulling over the day's events. The reality is never as good as the anticipation, she reminded herself dully. Her hands moved down over her cami, so soft and smooth over her skin, once again. She allowed her fingers to quest further down. Her thighs fell open and her index finger swept slowly up her centre. She jerked upwards. The tender bud of flesh at the top was still crying out for release, having been so cruelly denied earlier.

Ron had turned away from her and was breathing heavily, fast asleep.

Her left hand moved to her breast under her top and she rubbed her fingertips slowly but firmly over the nipple. It quickly rose to attention, demanding more. Her right hand was now energetically exploring her folds. She plunged her middle finger deep into her vagina, curling it slightly to feel the silky walls inside. She became increasingly curious and added another finger into the tight passage. Her walls gripped them and sent a wave of pleasure up her body. She arched her back and moved her fingers rapidly, sensing a quickening towards release. Withdrawing her fingers, she stroked up again towards her clit. At the first touch a shot of exquisite fire shot through her body and she knew she needed to come soon.

She felt for her nipple again and squeezed it between thumb and forefinger, sending another delicious shot through her body, to straight between her legs. She stroked firmly and rhythmically, caressing the bud of nerves that would send her over the edge. Feeling the glorious tightening in her abdomen, she increased her pressure. She pinched her nipple hard and caught her clit at just the same time. The wave broke and she arched her back high off the bed as exquisite pleasure washed over her heaving body.

In the darkness, she came down slowly, breathing heavily into the black of the night. Never had she needed that physical release so much. She turned her head towards Ron. He was sleeping deeply. She lay still for a few more minutes, trying as best she could to empty her mind. Then she turned slowly and closed her eyes to try to sleep.

It came to her surprisingly quickly, and as she inhaled deeply before slumber finally took her, the faint aroma of musk and spice briefly filled her senses.

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**Who is Hermione kidding? Come to your senses, girl!!**

**I've now enabled anonymous reviews, so you have no excuses! Hope you liked it! x**


	5. Five: Opportunities

**This chapter serves as a sort of introduction to the next, so I'll post them both at the same time! Thank you for your reviews and comments - keep them coming please! Still own no-one (how long do I have to keep saying that!!?? Maybe if I wait long enough I will eventually own Lucius ... hmm ... now there's a thought!) Enjoy! x**

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Five - Opportunities

Ron awoke to the distinct smell of bacon and eggs wafting into the bedroom. Hermione was nowhere to be seen, and he assumed she was the purveyor of the gorgeous aroma. He rolled over, yawned lazily and scratched his head. His mind went over the events of the previous night and he found himself satisfied but confused. He had never known Hermione to be so forward in her needs and desires and as much as he had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, he admitted to being slightly unnerved by it.

Certain images replayed in his head. His cock twitched under the covers. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. Despite his concerns, there were obvious perks to a girlfriend with a newly awakened sex-drive.

Just as his hand wandered down towards his ever-growing cock, he was hit four square on the head by a bar of soap and a towel. He instinctively put his hands up and turned to the door. There stood a laughing Hermione, arms folded, leaning on the door frame. She crossed swiftly to him and planted a brief but deep kiss on his lips. "I've got to dash to work. Breakfast's on the table. Eat it and get in the shower. You've got a meeting at 10, remember?" She flashed him a brilliant smile, then turned and left. He heard a cheery shout of "Bye" and the front door slammed behind her.

Ron folded his arms behind his head and smiled broadly. Life was fucking good.

Hermione walked to work, as was her habit, a distinct spring in her step. It was fabulous not being alone in the flat, and her renewed intimacy with Ron was a start at least, although she could hardly admit to it being great sex. She felt re-energised as she entered the Ministry and her confident stride, open smile and shapely body attracted more attention than ever. Her hair was tamed into a loose ponytail, allowing her luminous skin to glow smoothly.

The day's work passed uneventfully and she was preparing to leave on time for the second day running, when an owl fluttered through the door onto her desk. She took the parchment it proffered, opened it and read with surprise that Kingsley Shacklebolt himself wanted to see her before she left. Leaving her desk as it was, she headed for his office quickly.

His secretary, Deirdre Finglewort, glanced up at her coldly with undisguised resentment. Hermione's brilliant mind, early success and firm young body allowed jealousy to flourish among many sectors of the female workforce at the Ministry.

Despite the obvious and anticipated hostility, Hermione smiled broadly and announced her business. "The Minister asked to see me. He should be expecting me now."

Deirdre smiled, or rather sneered, sycophantically at her and conveyed the news of her arrival to the Minister. His door opened almost immediately and Hermione was cheered to see his reassuring physique and smiling face beaming down at her.

"Hermione! Come in, come in. I feel like I haven't seen you for ages." He opened his arms wide to gesture her through to his office and shut the door behind them.

"Sit down, my dear," Kingsley gestured to the chair opposite his desk. Hermione sat. It had been a while since she had been in the Minister's office and she glanced around at the panelled room, the portraits of previous Ministers smiling piously down at them.

"Drink, Hermione?" Kingsley offered, standing near a polished mahogany table adorned with an array of bottles and vials. "I have a very fine 200 year old firewhiskey here. Goes down very well at the end of a long week." He poured himself one and gave her a look of inquiry over his shoulder.

Hermione laughed slightly but declined the offer, anxious to know why she had been summoned.

"Well, my dear, how are you? I hear great things about you as ever. I think I'd better be on my toes, you'll be after my job next! We are all delighted to have you here and thrilled with your work. You have made your mark in many areas, but I have to say that Muggle-wizard relations have never been so good, well, amongst the few Muggles who know we exist of course, and I credit you with a lot of that. You have the perfect way of approaching both sides, and your unique background of being Muggle-born, but a witch of such outstanding ability, allows you to perceive solutions and openings most of us would miss."

Hermione blushed with the praise he was heaping on her, but remained silent, unsure of what to say and feeling there was more to come. He sat slowly and deliberately, swirling the liquid in his glass and continued.

"Because our world, and theirs, has been rid of the Dark Lord for nearly four years now, and relations, as I said, are so good, we feel that there is an opportunity to close the distance between our two worlds slightly. The Muggle world, as you well know, is full of wonders and glories, and it is all too easy for us magic folk to sit back and scoff patronisingly at its lack of mystery and enchantment, but in doing so we miss so much.

"The ministry has decided to arrange some high-profile "visits", if you wish, to particularly auspicious Muggle cultural events. A few select wizards, you included of course, will be chosen to attend, and will be introduced to some dignitaries and luminaries of the Muggle world. We will be introduced as Muggles to most of them for the time being, we wouldn't want to cause too much alarm. I don't need to tell you, it is part of your job, of how many Muggles know of our existence, the Prime Minister of course, but many others besides, always discreet. This is a wonderful opportunity for us in particular to broaden our horizons. It will be enlightening for us all, but I hope also it will benefit one or two of our number in more ways than one."

Hermione listened in astonishment and delight. Although there was no law preventing witches and wizards from visiting the Muggle-world and mixing with Muggles as often as they wished (as long as they strictly used no apparent magic or revealed their true nature in any way) it became hard to do this, particularly if strong emotions were involved, and they rarely spent more than one or two occasional hours there. Hermione's mind buzzed with the opportunities that suddenly seemed to be opening up.

"But how will the people we don't mind knowing we are magical recognise us as such?" she queried.

"We will simply be wearing a subtle insignia of some sort as a code to the Muggles we wish to convey our true natures to. The first event, a week tomorrow - a trial, shall we call it - is a trip to the opera! Covent Garden is staging 'Die Valkyre' by Wagner. Interesting, you shall see, full of magic, although there is no evidence to suggest Wagner himself had any magical ability, surprisingly.

"This is a remarkable event, Hermione. We will have to dress as Muggles of course; it is black tie, hope you've got a nice frock!" he finished with a twinkle in his eye.

Hermione laughed. An official excursion into the Muggle world and a chance to get dressed up! It didn't happen very often with Ron these days. She couldn't stop smiling and jiggled her legs in excitement. Kingsley chuckled at her reaction and rose, crossing slowly to the door. Hermione took this as her cue to leave and made her way after him.

"So, we'll meet here in our glad rags, as they say, at 6 pm next Saturday. Mr Weasley is more than welcome to join us, provided he is on his best behaviour." He grinned mischievously. "Have a good weekend, Hermione," he concluded, holding the door open for her.

Hermione moved to leave, but was stopped before she could pass him. "Oh, by the way, my dear. Your parents will of course be invited. It will be an honour to meet them."

Hermione looked up at the Minister of Magic with surprise, gratitude and intense happiness. She took his hand and squeezed it gently, "Thank you." She turned and left, practically skipping home to Ron.

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Hmm ... I wonder who will be at the opera? ... You don't have to wait to find out ... !


	6. Six: Emotion

**Who will Hermione meet at the opera? .... Nobody who belongs to me unfortunately.**

**Lots of developments here - enjoy - keep letting me know what you think- it's greatly appreciated!**

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Six - Emotion

The following week passed torturously slowly for Hermione. She had contacted her parents and confirmed that they could come and had ascertained that Harry and Ginny were going too. Other names on the wizarding guest list eluded her, there seemed to be a predictable amount of secrecy surrounding the whole event.

Ron's reaction had been less than enthusiastic. When she had rushed home and gushingly told him the news, he had reacted petulantly, protesting that he'd wanted to go to a Quidditch League match that evening.

"But you love parties," Hermione had insisted.

"Parties, yes, but not a bloody night at the opera having to watch my Ps and Qs with a bunch of your boring Ministry mates and a load of snobby self-interested Muggles!"

His words wounded Hermione, and the familiar feeling of frustration with Ron's attitude to life crept back to her. She had put on her coat and gone out for a walk, only returning when she was sure his attitude would have improved.

Eventually, he had reluctantly acknowledged that it was important that he accompany her, and had morosely gone with her to buy a dinner jacket for him and a formal dress for her. She chose a deep red satin gown, close-fitting and backless, with thin bands supporting it and tying around her neck. The material clung to her breasts, waist and hips, skimming down over them, then splaying out more fully below the knees. Ron had nearly passed out when she had shown him in the shop. "Is it too much?" she had asked uncertainly.

"Uhhhh, no ... God, no," he had spluttered. Merlin, she was stunning. Sometimes he had to pinch himself that she was his.

Saturday evening at last arrived and she and Ron presented themselves in all their finery at 6 pm sharp at Shacklebolt's office. They were met by Shacklebolt and Ormus, looking resplendent in their dinner-jackets. The Minister gave them a small red flower each to wear. This would be the signal to others of their wizarding heritage. They were to leave the Ministry via the telephone box, arriving in the Muggle streets and from there would take a taxi to the Royal Opera House. To Ron, taking a taxi was exciting enough in itself, and he started muttering away about all kinds of Muggle curiosities as they left. Eventually, Hermione turned to him to shut him up, "Honestly, Ron, you're becoming like your father!" That immediately did the trick.

They arrived in good time at the Opera House and were able to take in the beauty of the architecture. The Muggles had excelled here and the recent renovation project had only added to the glory and awe the building inspired. Hermione was reminded to give nothing away of her magical identity, except to people she knew were aware of it. After meeting up briefly but happily with her parents, she was introduced to the Prime Minister and Home Secretary, and was just about to engage them in a conversation about wizard liaison, when she was ushered to her seat by Kingsley.

The auditorium was richly adorned with gold and red velvet and all around people sparkled with their expensive gowns and jewels. Hermione glowed with pleasure and settled deep into her seat in one of the boxes as the opera started. The production was glorious and the music filled her soul, bombarding her senses with a gamut of emotions – how could a muggle produce such wonders? Even Ron seemed to be engrossed. At the famous "Ride of the Valkyries" she could hear him next to her, singing along, "Du du dede du duh, du dede du duh, du dede du duh, du dede duuuhh..." Embarrassed that people might hear, she turned to him and whispered, "Sshhhh!"

"What?" he muttered back, annoyed, "You should be happy I'm enjoying the bloody thing!"

She had sighed deeply and refocused her attention on the stage, smiling to herself at her silly, endearing boyfriend.

During a lull in the action, she momentarily allowed her mind to wander and she turned to scan the crowd seated in the stalls below her. There were some beautiful and clearly very important and wealthy people, Hermione noted. They carried that air of ignorant confidence and self-satisfaction, unaware of, or choosing to, ignore the evils and agonies of the world.

Her eyes roamed over the seats. She spotted several wizards from the Ministry, and there was Professor McGonagall! Oh, she would have to catch up with her later. It was interesting how wizards and witches were sitting interspersed with Muggles, obviously a deliberate ploy by the Minister. She noted that the wizards didn't entirely blend in, try as hard as they had to disguise their true nature. There always seemed to be some distinctive feature about them. Harry and Ginny were sitting about fifteen rows from the front. Hermione noted a slight look of boredom on their faces. Harry leaned in to Ginny and whispered in her ear, causing Ginny to stifle a giggle. Hermione smiled to herself.

She gazed over the rest of the crowd, moving further forward, and then stopped her search abruptly.

Her smile disappeared in an instant. About five rows from the front, she saw a mane of silver blond hair, tied meticulously and discreetly back, so as hardly to appear lengthy at all. The man was wearing a dinner-jacket, like every other man there, but his was of such a profound blackness that the others around him looked grey and dirty in comparison. He had an impressive profile and a firm, even jawline. Hermione's breathing quickened and her pulse started to race, but try as she might, she could not tear her eyes away from the man.

As she continued to stare down at him, the music on stage swelled to a climax; the act was drawing to a close. All eyes were trained on the stage. All except Hermione's and one other pair. Hermione felt her body melting into a pool of liquid fire as Lucius Malfoy moved his head slowly and turned to look directly at her.

Everyone else disappeared. Just she and he remained, their eyes searing into each others'. There were no painful memories, but an exquisite agony deep inside her, a desperate tension that needed release. Hermione felt heaviness press upon her, but still could not tear her eyes from his. Eventually, a sound like distant rain nudged at her consciousness. The sound grew louder and louder still, until it was all around and thunderous. She realised vaguely that it was the applause for the end of the act, but still she could not move. Lucius remained equally motionless, staring unwaveringly up at her. Eventually she became aware of someone shaking her arm and calling her name. "Hermione....Hermione...._Hermione!"_ Ron's voice became increasingly anxious and she tore her gaze away from the icy grey eyes and turned blearily towards the sound, unable to focus on him. "God, Hermione. What's the matter? I've been yelling in your left ear for the last minute!"

She dragged herself back to her surroundings and answered him as normally as she could, "Sorry ... yes ... I'm ... I'm fine. I just ... uhh ... I just got carried away by the music. It's so beautiful ... so beautiful ..."

Ron seemed to accept her explanation and muttered in turn, "Yeah, it's OK I suppose. Not sure if I can stand much more though. Come on, we need to get our drinks. Apparently it's a bit of a madhouse during the interval here."

Hermione held onto Ron as they descended to the Crush Bar, where drinks were served. It was called the Crush Bar for a good reason, and the throng of people chattering and laughing did nothing to aid Hermione's recovery. She saw Kingsley standing in a corner and the extreme emotion still burning inside her turned instantly to anger. She flushed with fury and, forgetting her surroundings, found herself marching up to him. He was talking to a muggle politician, but Hermione hardly noticed and interrupted him, spitting her words out quietly, but forcefully. "Why didn't you tell me Lucius Malfoy would be here!? Do you have any idea what that man did to me? How dare you make me endure being in the same space as him?"

Before she could scarcely begin her outburst, Kingsley had placed a hand on her elbow and guided her behind a pillar, away from prying eyes. He held her arms and made her look at him. He spoke regretfully but firmly.

"Hermione. Of course, I know what you went through. I had sincerely hoped you would not see him. That is why you are sitting so far apart. I thought there would be little chance of it. I am truly sorry that you saw him. But some things one just can't avoid entirely."

Hermione's rage continued unabated. "But what on earth is he doing here? I would have thought he was the last person to want to come to a Muggle gathering! I can't believe he would endure it? Why invite him?"

"Lucius Malfoy was told to come. It is part of his ... rehabilitation, shall we say. Remember, I said I hoped some wizards would learn much from these events. He was the main one I had in mind. He is a brilliant wizard, Hermione. He is back in society now. We need him on our side."

"What!?" Hermione could not believe what she was hearing and had completely forgotten who she was talking to. "Lucius Malfoy will never be on "our side". I have seen him..." she broke down, but continued through her angry tears, "I have seen him do the most vile, unspeakable things ... and ... he stood by ... and did _nothing_ when I was ... tortured ... time and time again, right before his eyes. And you have the gaul to tell me now that he is _brilliant_ and _on our side_!?" She spat her words with such venom that Shaklebolt was taken aback.

"Hermione, please..." she tugged her arms away from him, but he continued. "The events of the war, especially regarding Draco, had a deep effect on Lucius, I assure you. And, suffice to say, we've been ... keeping an eye on things ... and we're pleased with what we're seeing. It may be hard to tell initially, he is still a very smooth operator," Hermione huffed in derision, "but things are very different for him now. But, still, I am sorry you had to see him tonight. It was sooner than I had intended."

"Sooner than you had intended? You mean, you had plans for me to meet him later?" She gazed at him incredulously. Shacklebolt remained silent, not denying it. He reached for her arms again, trying to comfort her and draw a line under their conversation. Hermione threw him off once again, shot him one more disbelieving look and pushed past him. She had to get out, had to escape, run from this turmoil which engulfed her.

She tried to force her way through the sea of people impeding her path. But they kept closing in around her and she felt as if she would suffocate. She pushed desperately, earning indignant stares from the people around her. Her mind whirled and her breathing came in short bursts, it became harder and harder to take in the oxygen her lungs so badly craved. She finally burst through and vaguely became aware of standing at the top of a long wide stairway. But it was too late. Her vision blurred and her mind swam. Molten sounds filled her head and all went black. She felt herself falling, falling. She knew the stairs were below her ... Oh God, she would go down, down ...

But just as her legs gave way under her she realised that instead of tumbling downwards she had the remarkable sensation of falling up, up, safe. The expected cascade down the stairs did not occur and instead she was being lifted, supported, held up. Blackness continued to surround her, but now it was real, tangible blackness that she could feel and hold. She grabbed the jet dark cloth which was encircling her as if her life depended on it. Her lungs opened fully again and she breathed deeply, filling them with nourishing, replenishing air. She inhaled and with the oxygen flowing back to her senses came the scent. Musk and spice. Musk and spice. It was so strong now she thought that if she opened her mouth she would taste it on her tongue. She knew where she was and who was holding her. He was carrying her, taking her away, away from the noise, away from the crowds, away from Ron. And she was safe, safe...

She turned her head into his rich black garment and gave herself up to him.

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**At last.**

**Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if you could. x**


	7. Seven: Confusion

**Here you go! I just wish I was in Hermione's position right now!**

**Still own no-one etc etc etc ...**

**Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and comments. They do really help and inspire me. Please keep them coming!**

**This isn't a particularly long chapter, so I'll update the next in a few hours time ... until then ...**

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Seven - Confusion

Consciousness returned gradually to Hermione and she found herself being borne firmly and swiftly along, occasionally turning a corner, the temperature of the air around her varying slightly as they moved through the building. The breathing of the man carrying her was reassuring in its depth and regularity and as she nestled against his chest, she could detect a heartbeat, steady and clear. She had never felt so cocooned. At length she raised her head to look up to his face.

It did not surprise her to see the sleek blond hair framing it, or the crystal grey eyes, jet black pupils focused ahead of him. Lucius Malfoy continued to walk purposefully, not looking down, and Hermione was able to study his face more closely. She noted the supple lips, dark pink and slightly damp. His skin was alabaster smooth and his cheekbones high. He was undeniably the most attractive man she had ever seen.

The noise of the crowds in the Opera House had been growing increasingly faint and when they could be heard no more, Lucius at last slowed and stopped. He dropped gradually to his knees, not relinquishing his hold on Hermione, and moved her so that she was sitting up, supported in the crook of his arm. She noticed his breathing heavy and fast now, the effort of carrying a grown woman for so long evident also on his slightly flushed cheeks, yet he remained as composed as ever.

She had no idea where, or for what purpose, he had taken her and she felt a far corner of her mind desperately trying to communicate danger and fear to her. But all rational thought was vanquished as she found herself once again that evening staring deep into his eyes. God, his eyes! Surely he could kill with them alone, she thought, but as ever unable, or unwilling, to look away.

She felt the now familiar tension building in her abdomen and heat spreading through her body. It radiated over her skin, like molten lava rolling down a hillside. She no longer could, nor wished to deny the emotional and physical response this man elicited from her.

All reason was lost. His heady aroma engulfed her once again and she inhaled it desperately, audibly, wanting more. At this, his eyes shifted, but didn't move from her face. They flickered over her; mouth, nose, forehead, searching her, taking in every detail he saw, before returning once more to penetrate her eyes more deeply than ever.

Not a word passed between them. Their faces were mere centimetres apart now and Hermione knew what she needed, what she wanted. The air between them was alive with electricity and their mutual rapid breathing could be felt by the other. She felt his hand in her hair. His fingers flexed slightly, tightening the strands and brushing against her scalp. A barely perceptible gasp escaped her lips, which fell open further. He glanced down at her mouth. She willed him to lean down, to close the distance between them.

His eyes remained on her mouth, his also open; short, rapid breaths escaping from his firm lips. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he moved his head down, down towards her. She daren't close her eyes for fear he would stop. His tongue briefly flicked out and touched around his lips, sending a jolt to her core.

She ached for release. Surely she would burst.

His lips now hovered mere millimetres over hers, so close, so exquisitely close.

He stopped. Instead of the touch of his lips, she saw them move and his voice, low, deep and smooth came to her ears.

"Are you quite recovered, Miss Granger?"

Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and cold reality crashed down upon her. The desire flooding her body remained, but she tensed and recoiled slightly from him, his voice at once reminding her of who he was, and wounding her with his sudden withdrawal of intimacy.

Lucius too moved back, removing his arm from around her and standing swiftly and smoothly, his tall broad body looming over her. Intimidation and fear at her vulnerable situation returned to her and she struggled to comprehend the multitude of conflicting emotions flooding her mind and soul.

Embarrassment and anger overcame her. He had played her like a toy. She struggled to remain composed and pushed herself to her feet as confidently as she could. He stood a few feet away from her, straight and tall, but giving no clues as to what he would do next. His face was impassive, and try as she might, she could read no emotion in it.

She glanced around, taking in her surroundings for the first time. They were in a narrow corridor, seemingly far from the noisy centre of the building.

"Where have you taken me? Why are we here?"

"You fainted, Miss Granger. If I had not been at hand to assist, you would have had a nasty tumble down the stairs. Do you not recall?" His voice was as smooth as ever, running through her head like honey. Hermione used all her strength to deny its effect on her.

"Well ... thank you ... for that," she struggled to find the words, but was as polite as ever. She tried to judge the events clinically, burying her unassuaged lust as deep inside her as she could. His actions were, however you judged them, gentlemanly, and had saved her from humiliating embarrassment or even serious injury. Perhaps Kingsley had been right. Perhaps Lucius had changed. She found herself managing a watery smile in his direction.

"Oh," he said, an ominous tone in his voice, his words coming slowly and with increasing menace. "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Granger. I merely acted to prevent any further embarrassment to the wizarding world. This charade of a 'get-together' is farcical. I could tell those vulgar Muggles were already suspicious. Shacklebolt's a fool to think something like this would ever work, allowing our world to come so perilously close to exposure. We couldn't have a clumsy Muggle-born witch like you throwing herself down a staircase could we now? Tut tut tut, Miss Granger, trying to attract unnecessary attention to yourself yet again. Don't you think it's about time you grew up?"

Humiliation welled up inside her and she struggled to breathe. She felt herself burning with anger and shame. What a fool she was! A fool for trusting him and allowing herself to feel such longing for him. How could she possibly think he had changed?

He continued walking towards her, but stopped within a foot. His eyes swept slowly up and down her body, taking in every detail he saw, causing once again the now shameful but undeniable spasm in her belly. She flushed with fury at his ability to so easily manipulate her mind, soul and body.

His face grew harder and he spoke again.

"I openly admit, a few years ago I would have been more than happy to see your pretty little head smashed open on the marble floor, red blood issuing out and mingling with the crimson of that exquisitely tight dress you are wearing."

His graphic words shot through her like a curse and she gasped for breath, feeling hot tears well up swiftly behind her eyes. Before he could see her crying, she turned and sped out of the door, racing through the corridors. Her sobs came thick and fast but she was borne by such feverish emotions that she quickly found herself in the foyer of the theatre. To her immense relief she saw an anxious Ron, Kingsley and Ormus standing there, obviously wondering where she could have got to.

She raced up to Ron and flung her arms around his neck. Between gasping sobs, her face sodden with tears, she managed to splutter out, "Take me home. I want to go home." There was never any doubt that this was the only course of action anyone had any intention of taking. And, asking no questions, the three wizards ushered the broken witch out of the Royal Opera House, where they quickly found a dark corner from which to apparate her back to the safety of her own home.

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High above, Lucius Malfoy remained, staring at the spot Hermione had run from, a look of utter emptiness on his face. He eventually and slowly backed against the wall, his head falling onto it, eyes closed, neck arched. He exhaled deeply and slowly, and felt the last remnants of his unfulfilled, previously rock-hard erection finally disappear.

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**Aaaahhhhhh!!**

**Nothing like a bit of unrequited lust to keep 'em keen!!**

**Next chapter up soon. Poor Hermione! ... (Poor Lucius? ...)**

**Please R & R - will get back to those I can. x**


	8. Eight: Determination

**As promised, Chapter Eight up now!! Bit longer than usual too. Things are moving on ... opportunities for Hermione ...**

**Please note that I uploaded Chapter Seven a short while ago, so this is not the most recent update of the day, if that makes sense. You musn't miss that one!!**

**Thanks for reviews and comments - so so appreciated. Enjoy! x**

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Eight - Determination

Once back at the flat, the three wizards had fussed around Hermione, fetching her water and food. The extent of her upset was clear, but none of them felt it was the time to press her to discuss it. They were relieved when Hermione quite rapidly calmed down, and sat passively sipping some water. But her silence unnerved them and Ormus and Kingsley lingered, unsure how to proceed. Hermione seemed suddenly to sense the tension and shot them a quick glance, speaking with surprising force and clear annoyance. "I'm alright now. You can go."

"Are you sure?" Kingsley asked hesitantly, once again awed into submission by the brilliant young witch in front of him.

"Yes," she darted a glare in his direction, making her feelings abundantly clear.

Ormus and Kingsley gathered their things and Ron showed them outside, embarrassed once again by his forceful girlfriend.

On returning a few minutes later, he found Hermione's chair empty; she had taken herself off to bed. He put his head around the door, calling softly, "Hermione?" and was relieved when he received a calm and rational reply.

"I'm alright, Ron. It was just the whole evening and the music and seeing my parents. It was overwhelming. I just want some time alone now, please."

Ron accepted her explanation for now, but realised there was more to it than that. Kingsley had told him about her reaction to seeing Lucius Malfoy in the audience and he could imagine how that had distressed her. But for now, he was reassured that she had calmed down and recovered from the trauma. He quietly said good night, told her he'd come to bed in an hour or so and gently closed the door.

Hermione lay in her all too familiar state of staring wide-eyed into the darkness of her bedroom, the maelstrom of emotions and memories of the evening spinning in her head.

As ever, she analysed the details over and over in her mind, replaying his words endlessly.

Several things struck her. Firstly, his sentiments about the foolishness of the gathering of Muggles and wizards were not entirely without reason. On reflection, it did seem to be rash and sudden, and definitely left them open to discovery. Hermione herself had noted the interesting dress sense many witches in particular had favoured and the odd glances they had attracted from the Muggles. The music itself stirred deep emotions in people; unintentional magic could easily occur at these times.

And even Hermione had to admit that it would have been embarrassing and possibly dangerous for a witch such as her to injure herself by falling down a staircase. Her friends would have wanted to use instant magic to assist her, the Muggles would have packed her off to one of their hospitals where her care would have been inferior and she would have had to stay indefinitely, unable to return to or even communicate with her own world. And goodness knows what they would have discovered about her while there. The vulnerable position she and the wizarding world would have been in had Lucius not grabbed her in time was worrying indeed.

His words about her clumsiness and immaturity had stung bitterly at the time. But had she actually expected better from a Malfoy? She scoffed at Kingley's assertion that he had changed.

His precise words replayed in her mind – _"We couldn't have a clumsy Muggle-born witch like you throwing herself down a staircase could we now? Tut tut tut, Miss Granger, trying to attract unnecessary attention to yourself yet again. Don't you think it's about time you grew up?"_

Her indignation at his patronising attitude made her huff petulantly, but this in turn made her realise with shame, that actually, she _had_ behaved immaturely, especially in front of Kingsley and the Muggle politician. Why couldn't she control her emotions?

Despite the spite which still underlay his lush tones, Hermione reluctantly acknowledged that Malfoy's words had been accurate and insightful. His words ...!

A revelation suddenly struck her. She hadn't noticed at the time, but now the significance of it hit her like lightning. He had referred to her as "Muggle-born". Why on earth had he not used his usual poisonous appellation of mudblood, a word that previously had tripped off his tongue like a shot of firewhisky? Hermione was incredulous. There was no doubting Malfoy's desire to alienate Hermione as he had spoken to her, but his precise reason why eluded her, and he could so easily have slipped in that deepest of insults and yet had chosen not to.

Hermione's head ached with the frustration of not being able to figure the man out. Why had he turned and fixed her eyes with his for so long in the theatre? How had he found himself in precisely the right place at the right time to catch her as she fell? Had he been following her? And why had he come so close, so close to that tantalising touch and then withdrawn? At the time, her shame and anger had told her he had done it simply to tease and aggravate her, toying with her for pure amusement, but then the memory of his eyes flashed in her mind and she recalled his breathing, heavy and rapid. Their mutual lust had been tangible in the air around them, she was sure of it.

Finally, her mind recalled his last, gruesome words and the vivid details he had conjured up. His past as a Death Eater punctured her realisation. A man who had seen and done so many vile and unspeakable things, would still use the words and phrases associated with them in his vocabulary, she regretfully surmised. His words had sickened her, and again, she was sure he had chosen them carefully to elicit just that response. But as she analysed them endlessly, she realised another thing. He had in fact said that he would have been happy to see her dead "a few years ago". No longer. He had articulated that very carefully.

The reality that during the Dark Lord's rising while she was at school, he and his fellow Death Eaters had pursued her with one goal in mind was obviously not news to her. He had tried to kill her and her friends on more occasions than she probably realised, most notably in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. But had that desire to see her dead really gone? She had to admit, he had not harmed a hair on her head, only succeeded in stirring up such deep and profound desire for him she thought she would die if it wasn't realised. She could no longer pretend otherwise.

After all her analysis of the situation, she was left more confused than before, but decided that Malfoy's words had on the whole been rational and fair and no more than could be expected due to his past. He may have escaped Azkaban after the war, but she guessed the Ministry would be only too happy to lock him up in there if he put one step out of place. He would be on his best behaviour for this reason alone.

Perhaps there was a more genuine reason for his behaviour. She could find nothing in his words to convince her that she was in any danger from him or to contradict the possibility that he had in fact changed.

Hermione's innate sense of a looming challenge galvanised her, and she determined that if she met Malfoy again she would behave impeccably and calmly, not letting her emotions get the better of her. He was an enigma, something she couldn't resist solving, and she hoped she would have the chance to fathom a little more of what made him tick. It was more than that; she _needed_ to know, needed to know why he evoked such strong responses, emotional and physical, in her, why he was showing such interest in her, then withdrawing it abruptly.

She could not allow him to get the better of her. She hated not being able to work things out. She would solve _him_.

But as she drifted off to sleep, she realised that she no longer felt any distress or anxiety about the events of the evening, but she was most definitely still feeling something. She could not deny that the overwhelming emotion that was still burning deep inside was not resentment of Kingsley, or curiosity, fear, pain, or anguished memories. It was pure and base anger; anger at Lucius Malfoy for having rejected her and denied her body the release by his touch that she so desperately wanted.

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She awoke the next morning to Ron looking at her anxiously, obviously concerned at the mood she would awake in. "Alright, love?" he queried uncertainly.

Hermione stretched. Her head had cleared and her resolve to solve her 'enigma' returned to her.

"Yes, thank you." She realised an explanation of last night was in order. She didn't want Ron digging excessive information out of her. "Honestly, Ron, I'm fine. It was all just too much last night. I found the opera very moving and being in the muggle world with you and Kingsley just made me feel a bit strange about my situation that's all. I was brought up in that world after all, you know. Sometimes it hurts to feel it so tantalisingly close but so unattainable."

"Kingsley said you saw Lucius Malfoy in the audience," Ron spoke carefully, unsure why she hadn't mentioned it.

Hermione felt a jolt to her insides. She had hoped to avoid any mention of him in front of Ron. She spoke as calmly as she could, but knew that a blush had spread rapidly across her cheeks.

"Oh yes, there was that too. I wasn't expecting any Death Eaters to be there, was I!? Anyway, I let Kingsley know how I felt about that!" she laughed awkwardly and swiftly got out of bed, drawing the conversation to a close.

Ron was unconvinced but something told him to let it drop for the time being, and he busied himself getting ready for work, satisfied that Hermione was well enough to return to the Ministry. Her remarkable resilience never ceased to amaze him.

He settled himself to breakfast while Hermione got dressed in the bedroom and lifted his head when he heard the door open and she emerged. He nearly dropped the spoon into his cornflakes. For someone who had been on the verge of a breakdown the night before she looked incredible. Her hair was shiny and lush, the curls pulled up high on her head, with a few tantalising strands left framing her radiant face. She was wearing a smart but very sexy fitted jacket and skirt. A wide belt was tied around her waist, highlighting her slimness, the skirt hugging her hips. She was wearing higher heels than normal, Ron noted with slightly bemused interest, and he found it hard to take his eyes off her legs.

"Blimey! You look..."

"What?" she asked, mild surprise in her voice.

"Well ... great!" he confirmed, unsure how to react.

"Thanks!" she smiled, popping over to grab a piece of toast and plant a quick kiss on him, before heading for the door. "See you later! Have a good day!"

The door slammed, leaving a confused and bewildered Ron in a silent, empty flat.

As soon as she arrived at her desk an owl fluttered in with a note asking her to see Kingsley Shacklebolt when she got in. She had predicted as much, and walked purposefully along the corridors to his office. She would apologise for her behaviour the night before and offer up the same explanation she had given to Ron.

Deirdre was again at her desk and she repeated the same disdainful exchange with Hermione of days before. Hermione was sent into Kingsley's office and she entered to find him with the same look of concern on his face he had left with the night before.

"Hermione," he said sombrely, "thanks for coming so soon. Sit down. First, may I apologise for putting you through that last night. Asking Lucius Malfoy was a risk and I should never have..."

Hermione cut him off before he could continue.

"No, Kingsley, it is I who needs to apologise to you. I behaved rashly and immaturely and I am sorry for any embarrassment I caused you. As you say, time has moved on and I have no way of knowing that what you say about Mr Malfoy is not true. Last night, the whole evening got to me, the music, seeing my parents, former Death Eaters...! It was all just a bit too much and I really should learn to control my emotions more carefully. I can assure you that I will do so more in future."

Kingsley Shackebolt sat open-mouthed in astonishment. He could not believe the transformation in the girl seated in front of him from the night before. There was silence between them for a while as he thought about how to proceed.

"Well ... good ... I'm glad you're feeling better. Umm ... if there's anything I can do for you ..."

Hermione continued unabated.

"Actually, Minister, last night, during our ... umm ... conversation ... you mentioned that it had been earlier than you wanted for me to see Mr Malfoy, implying that you had wanted me to meet up with him later. What exactly did you mean by that?" Hermione spoke with clarity and conviction, not a hint of nervousness in her voice when referring to the man who only the night before had caused such distress in her. Shacklebolt was amazed and blurted out his explanation more rapidly and openly than he had intended.

"Well, Hermione, at a time that was right for you, I was going to ask you ... only if you were fully happy about it, of course ... if you could be personally responsible for Lucius Malfoy's tutoring into the ways of Muggles. As you may have surmised, he has been on a programme of ... re-establishment ... shall we say, and I have indications that it is working quite well.

"Part of this programme is an in-depth study of Muggles. I thought that you would be the perfect person to show him some of the wonders of the Muggle-world, to draw him further into a reasoned and eclectic view of all aspects of life. You are, after all, the most talented witch of your generation, and the child of Muggles – a perfect combination from our point of view. And I don't see how even Lucius Malfoy can fail to respect your abilities.

"But after last night, I of course would not presume to ask you and I feel stupid for having ever entertained the notion..."

"No, I'll do it!" Hermione spoke swiftly and with sharp conviction. Shacklebolt was astounded.

"Are you sure? I mean..."

"Yes! I think it's a brilliant idea!" Hermione could not believe what she was hearing. It was almost as if fate had heard her thoughts last night and intervened immediately. Her heartbeat quickened and she struggled to maintain a calm exterior in front of Shacklebolt. "As you say, we need him on our side and how better than to show to him, probably for the first time, the true greatness of the whole world around him. I would love the challenge!"

"Well, that's what I originally thought, but your reaction last night made me see that it was a foolish idea."

"Please, Kingsley. I've told you about last night. It wasn't just Luci ... Mr Malfoy's appearance ... there were lots of reasons for my behaviour, which, anyway, was entirely unacceptable. Give me this job. When do we start?" She blurted her words out, terrified he would deny her the opportunity.

Shaklebolt was uncertain how to proceed. He spoke cautiously, "Don't you think you should think about it for a while?"

"I have. Send me details about when we are to meet as soon as you can and I'll go away and have a think about what to do." She rose to leave, denying him the chance to change his mind.

"All right, Hermione, as you seem so sure about it. I must say, this is not what I was expecting."

"No. Thank you, Kingsley, this is brilliant, at last something I can get my teeth into." She turned to leave, but then an odd thought occurred to her, something niggling her mind. She faced him once more and queried as neutrally as she could, "What about Narcissa and Draco? Don't they need 'rehabilitating' too?"

Shacklebolt raised his hands in a gesture of inconsequence. "Draco is quite well-versed in Muggle ways and has been seen at several parties in the Muggle world already... behaving himself, well....from a magical point of view that is..." he smiled mischievously at her.

"And Narcissa?" Hermione couldn't work out why she suddenly felt so nervous.

"Well, between you and me, Hermione, there have been rumours of tension between Mr and Mrs Malfoy. Shame really, they were always a very close family – that's what led to their redemption, but the effect on them of those years with the Dark Lord and the war can only be guessed at. Who knows what goes on in the privacy of Malfoy Manor? Let's just say, it would be wiser to leave Narcissa Malfoy out of this for now. Some people say she has actually left the country. She hasn't been seen with her husband for a long while now."

Hermione felt her stomach flip and she gripped the door handle tightly.

"Oh...shame...I see..."she mumbled barely audibly. Straightening herself she said more clearly, "Thank you again, Kingsley. I won't let you down, I promise."

With that she turned and swiftly left the room, leaving the Minister of Magic shaking his head at the ability of Hermione Granger to once again amaze and astound him.

Hermione rushed back to her office, an unbelievable euphoria almost carrying her along. She would never have guessed that the very next day after making her decision to fully understand Lucius Malfoy, Shacklebolt himself would drop the man in question into her lap. And no Narcissa! Shame at her reaction to that news overtook her slightly and she tried to bury the delight she felt deep within her.

But when she reached her office and closed the door behind her, a thrill swept through her and she couldn't suppress a giggle of astonishment from bubbling out of her. She flung her head back and laughed aloud again. Her whole mind and body tingled and she clasped her arms tightly around herself, enjoying the friction it caused and reminding her once again of how this man affected her very being.

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**So he falls straight into her lap courtesy of the Minister of Magic himself! How lucky can a girl be? Oh, to be locked in an office with Lucius Malfoy ...!**

**x**


	9. Nine: Preparation

**Here's the next one! Things are moving steadily on ...What is going on in Hermione's mind? ... Hmm ....**

**Thank you to all of you for taking the time to review - all your comments are very helpful and interesting - thank you! x**

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Nine - Preparation

The next few days passed uneventfully, although Ron noted with pleasure but slight confusion that Hermione was in a ridiculously good mood, especially after her behaviour at the Opera House. But, never one to dwell on the whims of women too much, he quickly forgot about it and just enjoyed her good humour. They had made love every night since his return, apart from the night at the opera, nearly always instigated by her. She seemed to have a new appetite for sex and he felt rather inadequate in comparison. He admitted he could have done without it on some evenings when he had returned particularly exhausted, but one glance at her always made him stiffen rapidly and, Gods, she was so hot at the moment.

He hoped she was satisfied. He knew she didn't orgasm with him all the time, but her ardour remained undimmed and she still seemed to be up for it constantly. He noticed that she often spent quite a long time in the bathroom after they made love, and he thought on occasion he could hear a faint moan coming from behind the door. He chose to ignore the rather obvious reason for this.

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Hermione for her part could think of little else than her task of fathoming Lucius Malfoy. Her mind was full of plans and ideas for introducing him to the Muggle world. However, she knew that she would have to begin by winning his confidence and getting to know him better. This was something she realised she had to do anyway to work out her feelings for him, but at least now she had official sanction from the Ministry!

She and Ron had had sex nearly every night since his return. While in bed, she tried her hardest to focus on him, her hands running over his pale, freckled skin, looking deep into his eyes. But so often her efforts, and his limited ones, got her nowhere, and she had to retreat to the bathroom when he rolled off her, closing the door and allowing her fingers to stroke towards the taut nub of flesh at her centre. When at last alone, she openly and ecstatically focused on one face only, and she would bring herself to a palpitating climax as the image of Lucius Malfoy filled her mind.

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On the fifth day after her meeting with Shacklebolt, Hermione received an owl from the Minister. She was particularly busy with additional work and had tried hard but with minimal success not to dwell on the wait to hear news of Malfoy. Even so, she was unprepared for what she read on the parchment.

"_Dear Hermione_

_I have informed Lucius Malfoy of your acceptance of the task to tutor him about the Muggle world. He has agreed to comply with your programme and will be arriving at your office for his first session at 4pm this Friday. I hope the preparation for your work with Mr Malfoy is progressing well and may I wish you well in your endeavours._

_May I also thank you for agreeing to this unusual task and I reiterate that, if at any time, you feel uncomfortable or threatened in the presence of Mr Malfoy, we will call the sessions to an end._

_Yours, as ever,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister of Magic"_

Hermione's insides turned upside down. Although thoughts of her meetings with Lucius had dominated her mind for several days, now that confirmation had arrived, it took her by surprise and a sudden wave of panic and uncertainty swept over her.

She read the parchment again and took several deep breaths. The day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow he would be here, in her office, sitting within a few feet of her. Her skin tingled and the fire ignited deep inside as she knew it would. The fear she had felt moments before melted away as she came to terms with the reality of it all.

She eventually put the parchment to one side and tried to refocus on the pile of everyday paperwork in front of her. But try as she might, the words swam before her eyes and she knew it would be impossible to achieve more of any note today.

Picking up the parchment, she stowed it safely in her bag, and prepared to leave. It was only 3 o'clock, but she explained to Ormus that she had a headache and would continue her work at home. He let her go without query and she left the office swiftly.

The flat was empty, Ron was away at Hogwarts doing some coaching and wouldn't be back until much later. She put her bags down and stood in the middle of the room, at a loss for what to do next. She ran her fingers through her hair and stared ahead unblinkingly for what seemed like an age. Then she started pacing, up and down her own living room.

How would she greet him? Should she refer to what happened at the opera? What would she ask him first? Should she mention Draco? Narcissa?!

Her mind flooded with questions. She had prepared so much and so carefully already, but now the first meeting was imminent she questioned whether she had the nerve to remain professional and clear-headed with him. She knew that to even begin to unravel the mystery of him she needed to impress him with her intelligence, and hoped she would not be reduced to a drivelling wreck as soon as he stepped into the room.

She achieved little except worry that evening and, although could think of no man but Lucius, was relieved when she heard the door open and Ron return. She greeted him warmly, but with less ardour than of late, he noted. He spent the rest of their waking hours telling her of his trip to Hogwarts, of how Professor McGonagall had changed the dormitories around, of how he'd eaten in the Great Hall and Filch had stormed in to complain that someone had sprayed reappearing graffiti on a wall of the castle, and how rubbish the Gryffindor Quidditch team were at the moment. He rabbited on and on and at any other time Hermione would have listened intently to stories about her beloved old school, but right now, she was happy just to have the silence filled and time eased away by the gabble of another. They made love again that night, this time at Ron's instigation, but it was quick and perfunctory, as it had been before.

As she lay in bed after he had turned away from her after coming swiftly with a grunt, leaving her unsatisfied again, Hermione thought briefly of her feelings for Ron. Of all the emotions she had experienced in the weeks since first seeing Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts, guilt over Ron was not one of them. She was openly obsessed with another man and only the thought of him could bring her to orgasm, and yet she still regarded Ron as her ever-reliable boyfriend and treated him no different to before. Should she? As he remained ignorant of all that had happened between her and Malfoy, she had not given him a second thought.

A flicker of guilt did at last prick her conscience before her mind swiftly returned to Friday at 4pm, Friday at 4pm and she drifted off, dreaming cool grey eyes gazing down at her.

Luckily, Thursday passed swiftly. Hermione had meetings and briefings to attend, and although her mind was not focused on them, they moved the day smoothly along. Harry and Ginny were coming over to supper and so the evening also passed quickly. She was sure there had been some discussion between them and Ron when she left the table about how distracted she seemed, but the three of them had plenty to talk about, and as they left she merely apologised for her unsociability, explaining that she was very tired.

She went to bed straight away and, when Ron entered the room, pretended to be asleep. He was surprised to find her like that and faintly disappointed. He had become used to his regular evening bout of vigorous sex and frustration irked him as he settled down to sleep. Hermione, for her part, slept not a wink all night.

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Friday morning eventually deigned to dawn, grey and flat. Hermione was up early, causing Ron to groan at the disturbance. He was vaguely aware of her busy in the bathroom and bedroom, more than usual, and when he finally opened his eyes properly he was greeted with a similar sight to the one that had met his gaze the morning after the opera. Hermione looked stunning, in her figure-hugging skirt and jacket, belt cinched in at the waist. She had on those shoes again, making her appear deliriously sexy, her hair done up once more, off her face save for those teasing ringlets delicately brushing the sides.

Ron exhaled slowly and felt his cock stiffen rapidly. "You made an effort today," he muttered.

"Big meeting," she replied matter-of-factly. "It helps me to be confident if I feel good about myself, that's all."

"I'm not complaining, babe," Ron replied, reaching out and caressing her calf. He was as hard as iron now and desperate for her. "Mione? You can't stay for a bit can you? I mean, look at me!" He pulled back the covers to reveal his member protruding straight out at her. Hermione glanced down and found a faint nip of revulsion curl inside her. She quickly looked away, then leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, sweet, I have to go. Meeting starts early. See you later." She headed for the door, then stopped and turned back to him. "Oh, I might be a bit late tonight. I have something to discuss with Ormus later on."

Ron had already rolled away from her. He grunted his farewell and she picked up her bag and hurried out.

She couldn't get to the Ministry soon enough, and although she normally enjoyed her leisurely walk through Muggle London, today the slow pace maddened her. She turned into a deserted alleyway, pulled out her wand and apparated herself to her office. The suddenness of her actions dizzied her and she had to sit down rapidly in her chair. Her eyes fell on a parchment signed by Kingsley on her desk. _"Just to remind you – Lucius Malfoy is due at 4 pm today. All still OK?" _

She smiled to herself slightly at his ignorance of how little reminding she needed, and just how OK it was. Sitting back in her chair, she allowed herself to take out the papers she had prepared on Malfoy and read them through. She would start gently, asking him about his time at Hogwarts and the things he derived pleasure from in life. She would be business-like and precise, making sure he noticed the rigour and thoroughness with which she approached her task.

The morning dragged on and Hermione found herself clock-watching incessantly. At noon, she stood up quickly and, leaving the papers strewn over her desk, she hurried out. She was not hungry, but going out for her lunch-break would at least break up the day. She went to a secluded Muggle cafe and ordered a panini. She nibbled at it tentatively, but gave up after a couple of mouthfuls, resorting instead to drinking three cups of coffee in quick succession. At ten to one, she realised she would have to head back and walked as slowly as she could to the Ministry, willing time to pass as she went.

She walked through the marble corridors, glancing at any clock she passed. 1:03, 1:05, 1:06, she didn't think she could bear another three hours. Her mind was thinking of how she could spend the remaining time as she reached her office. She vaguely noticed Ormus' secretary call her, but before she could respond she had opened the door.

The aroma reached her first. She looked up.

Lucius Malfoy was sitting in her desk chair, back turned, flicking through her papers which he held in his hand. On hearing her enter, he spun smoothly around and smiled languorously across at her. "Interesting reading, Miss Granger."

The secretary caught up with her. "I wanted to tell you, Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy arrived early. He insisted on waiting in your office. I hope that is alright."

Hermione was frozen to the spot. She had longed to see him again, but thought this time it would be on her terms. She turned blankly to the secretary and dismissed her, "Yes ... don't worry ... that's fine ..."

She shut the door behind her and turned dizzily back to the wizard sitting in her chair. She was completely unprepared for him, her vision clouded and she found her legs about to give way beneath her. She summoned every ounce of self-control to remain standing and said in as clear a voice as possible, "You're early."

"Hmm ... slightly," he drawled. "You wouldn't want me to be late for our first little rendez-vous, would you now?"

"Three hours."

"Is it that much? Ah well, I'm sure we can find ways to pass the time," he paused, fixing her with his eyes.

She felt the heat spreading through her and knew a blush would be obvious on her face. Her breathing became rapid and her heartbeat fast and loud in her heaving chest. She must control this or she knew she would achieve nothing.

She turned to hang her coat up on a peg and spoke without looking at him, pleased at her business-like tone, "Mr Malfoy, please return my papers to the desk. You may sit in the chair opposite. I need to sit there." She turned back to him and fixed him with as neutral a stare as possible.

"Yes, miss," he purred, with just enough sarcasm to make her flinch, and returning the papers to her desk, stood and moved towards her. She walked over to sit down, but found herself having to walk dangerously close to him. His aroma was so intense she thought she might faint again.

When she found herself within a few inches of him, he reached over and swiftly encircled her arm with his hand, stopping her dead. His touch, even through several layers of clothing, burned, and she became acutely aware of each finger as it curled around her upper arm, exerting firm yet surprisingly tender pressure. She felt no alarm or fear, merely exhilaration, and waited to see what he would do next.

After what seemed an age, he leaned in towards her, just as he had done that first day in Flourish and Botts. This time, however, he reached up to move her hair away from her ear with his hand, which he did with such deliberate sensuality, slowly moving the tip of his finger over the shell of her ear, that she had to allow a soft gasp to escape from her lips. Her eyes closed and she struggled to fill her lungs with enough oxygen. This man had only been in her office for two minutes, and already she was relinquishing control to him.

She felt his breath on her outer ear and the smell of spice assaulted her senses. His fingers had settled just below her lobe, at the juncture of the base of her ear and jawline, and her mind was entirely focused on that deliciously sensitive spot and the slight pressure he exerted there. She knew dampness was spreading out between her thighs and she involuntarily moved her legs, instinctively relieving the ache smouldering from between them. At this, she felt a sharper exhale at her ear. Did he sense it too? Her heart skipped a beat.

He made no further move but simply spoke, softly and silkily, his mouth so close that she could feel his warm breath vibrating inside her ear itself. "I hope you are quite recovered from your distress of the other day, Miss Granger? I wouldn't want our first meeting to be anything less than magnificent." She could not suppress a luxurious shiver snaking its way up her spine.

She willed herself to move but found her legs no longer obeyed her. She turned her head slowly and met his eyes. They were the same mesmerising grey that had filled her dreams for the last few weeks, but she was surprised at their impassiveness. She had expected a more arrogant and haughty visual appraisal of her, and was met with a look she frustratingly could read nothing into.

"Yes," she replied between breaths, "Thank you for your ... assistance ... that evening. I am _quite_ recovered."

The corner of his mouth tweaked with a slight smirk and, still wondering how she could find the will-power to propel herself to her desk, he suddenly turned from her, his robes billowing out around him and lowered himself elegantly into the arm chair she had indicated. Taken aback, she swayed slightly from the shock, then released at last from her paralysis, walked as steadily as possible to her desk, adjusted her chair, and sat.

"Miss Granger," he hummed, hands upraised to the sides, "I'm all yours."

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***melt***

**Let me know what you think, if you wish ...**

**x**


	10. Ten: Revelations

**Ok - here goes!**

**Thank you all, registered and anonymous, for your fandabydozy reviews. Although most of this story is already safely stored on my PC, reading them still makes me double my efforts to update frequently - life can be hectic! And I could always change things based on your comments - nothing is set in stone!**

**I have invented an ickle bit of backstory for Lucius here which just gets Hermione thinking, as you will see ... it does not change who he essentially is or was ...**

**Warning - things are starting to heat up ... !**

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Ten - Revelations

Hermione shuffled the papers nervously in front of her and cleared her throat. Now that there was sufficient distance between Lucius Malfoy and herself, her breathing steadied and she found herself able to refocus on the task at hand. She suddenly became acutely aware of the man's past and that he had been present, complicit, in her torture at his own home. The reality had not entered her head since that first moment of meeting him in the bookshop and the mystery of why she had somehow suppressed it was something she needed to address. She felt no fear looking at him, but her mind and body recalled the agony of the curses Bellatrix Lestrange had hurled at her over and over again, and she wondered why her body now reacted in such a delirious way when it came near her torturer's brother-in-law. She shook off the memory, but determined with renewed vigour to sort out the mess in her head and body this man was causing.

She glanced up at him. He was sitting quite calmly and looking at her with mild curiosity. When her eyes met his, he raised his eyebrows in expectation and she at last found her voice.

"Mr Malfoy, I know that my purpose here is to "educate" you in the Muggle world, but I think it would be foolish to throw ourselves headlong into it. I need to know the sort of things you're interested in first. I need to ascertain just how strongly you feel about certain customs and beliefs, before exposing you to things you may react adversely to. So I intend to question you a little on your youth and your likes and dislikes in the wizarding world, and from that I will plan the next stage of our programme."

She almost dared not look at him, fearing his reaction, but when she did glance up, his face remained as impassive as ever, although she thought she could detect a slight smile briefly play round the corners of his mouth. Receiving no negative reply, she felt emboldened and took out the sheet she had prepared the night Kingsley had given her the task.

Clearing her throat, she spoke as confidently as possible.

"Tell me about when you first went to Hogwarts." She couldn't bear to look up, and silence hung about the room for what seemed to be an age, but then, just as she feared her lungs would implode, his honeyed voice poured across to her.

"My father was on the Board of Governors, and I had visited several times when younger. I had a personal tutor prior to going to Hogwarts and had minimal influence from the Muggle world, unlike so many other witches and wizards who invariably spent their first year "undoing" the damage done by Muggle junior schools. It was hardly an adjustment, and I only wish I could have gone sooner." He spoke clearly and without his usual sardonic bite.

"You presumably knew several of your fellow first years very well when you first arrived?"

"Naturally. Many pure-blood families had children of my age due to attend Hogwarts at that time. We were all ready to move on. The transition could not come soon enough. There were very few Muggle-borns or even half-bloods at that time."

He had done it again; referred to her kind as Muggle-borns. She could not resist commenting on it.

"Muggle-borns?"

"Yes," he replied tersely. "I believe you know what they are."

"Why not use your usual term of endearment? You called me a Muggle-born the other day at the opera as well," she blushed slightly on remembering the intensity of their encounter at that time.

Looking directly at him, she waited for a reply. None was forthcoming. She spoke again.

"Why not say _mudblood_?" The word was alien and dirty on her tongue, and turned her stomach, but she spoke it with such venomous spite for the term, that it sounded as vicious as when used as an insult.

He finally responded, fixing her with his eyes and using measured tones. "That term is forbidden, Miss Granger."

"That didn't bother you before, Mr Malfoy."

"Aah ... 'before'... I fear that is a word I will be hearing a lot of during the course of these encounters."

She held his gaze for as long as she dared, but feeling it was futile to pursue a satisfactory answer, she reverted to her previous line of questioning, but surprised herself with the personal nature of her next query.

"Was your wife a student at Hogwarts during your time?" She asked it with eyes lowered and was met with silence. After an age it was broken.

"Yes."

She felt her heartbeat quicken, but she could not resist. "And how does she feel about you receiving instruction in the ways of Muggles?"

Further silence. She dared not look up.

"My wife is unaware of our little arrangement, Miss Granger. She no longer lives at the Manor. We only see each other when there is a matter regarding Draco to discuss."

His candour staggered her and she looked up, meeting his eyes, which were hard and empty. His eyebrows raised slightly to punctuate what he had just said but he then lowered his gaze.

Despite receiving the confirmation of their separation she wanted, Hermione felt a genuine pang of remorse. It had always seemed, despite the Malfoys' twisted natures, that they were an exceptionally close and dependent family. She spoke sincerely. "I'm sorry."

He inhaled slowly and replied, "I'm sure you are, in your warped little Gryffindor way; so typical to be apologetic for the distress of others." He paused. "But not sorry for my wife's elimination from the equation ... hmm?" His eyebrows raised in query and a slight smirk ghosted across his face.

She flushed at his perceptiveness and quickly dropped her head again. Her questioning returned to familiar territory.

"How did you get on with Professor Dumbledore?"

She was relieved when he answered immediately and freely. "I was an exceptional student. Regrettably, Professor Dumbledore always had a soft spot for the non-academic clowns, Potter being a prime example, but he could not fail to respect my intellect. I also impressed with my ability to enforce good order and discipline. I was an exceptional prefect in my final year."

His arrogance was staggering, and she smiled to herself at the predictability of it. But, emboldened by his relative verbosity, Hermione continued, "How did you feel when you were sorted into Slytherin?"

He scoffed at her question. "There was never any doubt I would be in Slytherin. My family has been in Slytherin for ten generations. It could have been no other way."

"You didn't answer my question."

He looked at her sharply, as if to say, 'and neither do I intend to' and Hermione started to regret her line of questioning. But just as she contemplated her next move, he spoke again.

"I was naturally delighted, but hardly surprised. It was, as I have said, a foregone conclusion."

"Was it?" She surprised herself with her bravado, not sure what had led her to ask it.

Again, he looked at her, this time with mild surprise written on his face. He paused before answering, but then seemed almost to reward her boldness by humouring her.

"As you know, Miss Granger, the Sorting Hat can ... mull things over before making a final judgement. This is quite normal, as I'm sure you recall. It has no bearing on the final outcome."

Hermione was amazed by what she was hearing and pressed further.

"Did the Sorting Hat consider putting you in another house?" she could hardly believe she was saying it.

"Nooooo," he hissed bitterly. "The final decision would never have altered. It was simply part of the process."

"But it did think about it." Her mind buzzed with realisation and excitement. "It did, didn't it?" There was a long pause.

"I vaguely recall it mentioning another House momentarily." He stopped. Hermione only just managed to suppress an audible gasp escaping her. Then he spoke again, slowly.

"Miss Granger, I think we have discussed this long enough. Let us move on now." His voice had developed a coldness all too familiar to her from previous encounters. But Hermione could sense a breakthrough and carried on.

"Which house, Mr Malfoy?" He looked straight at her, his eyes icy. She felt a chill run through her, reminding her of their meeting in the bookshop, but her emotions simply spurred her on. "Which house?"

Their eyes remained locked and Hermione knew he could, and may well, take out his wand and curse her, such fury burned behind his pupils. But still, she held his gaze, her own confidence staggering her. Again she spoke, feeling a surge of power well up in her. It was intoxicating. "I need you to answer my question."

His eyes flashed and then narrowed. She could see his chest rising and falling more rapidly than normal. Not a sound. She thought she'd lost him.

But then his voice spoke, quite calmly and measured.

"The house closest to your own heart, Miss Granger."

The revelation hit her like lightning.

"Gryffindor?" she whispered, barely audibly. "You were nearly put in _Gryffindor_?"

Silence hung in the air as the full impact of his disclosure sank in. Hermione stared disbelievingly at her desk, amazed not only at the nature of his confession, but also the fact that she had succeeded in getting him to reveal it. At length, the silence was broken by his voice, which had returned to its laconic drawl.

"My my ... Quite the little inquisitor, aren't we? Are all our sessions going to be like this?"

She looked up at him, suddenly fearful that he might back out of the programme. She was relieved to see that he was still in his seat and did not seem as if about to leave.

She almost felt like leaving her questions there for the day and stood up, uncertain of her next move. But not wanting to appear weak or regretful of her questioning she spoke boldly, "It was you who chose to answer, Mr Malfoy. Anyway, as you say, I doubt very much that the final outcome would have been any different."

He too raised himself slowly from his chair and took a step towards her. A cold chill once again tinged the air. "Oh, but I know what you're thinking, Miss Granger," he drawled, locking his eyes into hers. "You're thinking, 'What would he have been like if it had?' ... Hmm?"

Once again she felt herself rising to his challenge, and this time stepped out from behind her desk and moved deliberately towards him. She stopped only a foot away and looked boldly up as he towered above her, her eyes flashing into his. His scent threatened to overwhelm her, but she spoke calmly and deliberately, almost mimicking his sardonic tone. "Yes, but the question is, Mr Malfoy, did _you_ ever think about what you would have been like? Did you ever consider ... all those years, all those decisions ... were they ever actually the right ones?"

He was at her. Before she knew it, he had grabbed her violently with both hands, his breathing fast and heavy, nostrils flaring. He pushed her roughly back until she collided hard with her desk. She gasped, although somehow managed to retain her control. She knew she had gone too far and should have anticipated his reaction. Her heart raced and she gasped for air. Yet somehow, despite his obvious anger, it was not fear flooding her senses, but that now familiar thrill, which radiated from deep within her core. Even in this vulnerable position, she felt an ecstatic triumph over him, which pumped through her veins.

He leaned into her, pinning her against her own desk. Pushing her hands behind her back, he encircled both her wrists with one hand, while the other came up to rest on her throat. He reached around it and pressed his large hand into her neck, the pressure threatening, yet delicious. She allowed a pang of anxiety to twinge her, but then noticed that his grip had relaxed slightly and his thumb was moving over her skin, just below her jaw. His touch sent a jolt of fire straight between her legs and she felt a rush of wetness flood out.

His eyes burned into her own, fury still igniting them. He searched her face, his breath hot on her. They remained like this for what seemed an eternity, but Hermione found herself unable, or unwilling, to even attempt to escape his grasp. Finally, he spoke.

"What are you, Miss Granger? _What are you_ ... that within a few minutes of our conversing you elicit ... thoughts ... from me that are better left buried in the deepest recesses of the mind?" His face was only inches from hers now and his breath came fast upon her. It smelt vaguely of cinnamon.

He continued, his eyes penetrating her mind, "You intrigue me, Miss Granger ... what lies beneath _you_, I wonder ... that too, will be equally remarkable, will it not ...?"

Hermione remained locked between the desk and him. His legs were pushed firmly up against hers and she noted how long and hard they felt on her. His lower torso was pinning her down, and with every breath, pushed her body further into him, each time stoking the fire blazing ever more inside her. And between his legs and his abdomen she could feel something else, harder than anything, straining against her. She could not move due to his strength over her, but desperately willed herself towards that iron hardness. He did not relinquish his hold on her neck, but his thumb continued to stroke, sending darts of pleasure through every nerve in her body. Her eyes closed, unable to burden the heat from his anymore, and her head fell back, guided by his hand. She could bear it no longer.

"Please ..." a soft moan escaped her lips, barely audible.

"What was that?" he crooned in mock surprise.

All she could do was pant, she did not think she had the ability to formulate another word again.

"_Please_..." she finally managed, a supreme effort of concentration fuelled by her desire.

He pulled her arms, still held tight in his large, powerful hand, in towards her back, causing a cry to escape her. She fell further backwards across her desk.

He leaned down over her. "Please ... _what_?" he hissed in her ear.

Hermione could only moan in response, a low guttural moan, originating in a place so deep inside that she didn't recognise it as coming from her. She immediately felt an increased push from the iron-hard apex of his thighs against her pelvis and rose to meet it, eliciting a groan from him. It was such a deeply erotic sound that she thought she would come right then, but controlled herself, desperate for his touch. God, she needed release. Her skin burned and her insides were liquid fire.

She forced the words out. "Please ... touch me ... Lucius ... _touch me _..."

"Good. Girl." He whispered straight against her ear.

She couldn't open her eyes, she had lost the ability to think, but was aware of his right hand relinquishing the hold on her neck. It dropped down, then she felt it again at the side of her leg, just above the knee. His fingers seared into her flesh, causing her to jerk up. Slowly, his hand worked up her thigh, stroking, prodding slightly at her, pushing her skirt up until he reached the top of her stocking. When he got there, he tucked his finger in behind the lace and ran it along towards the inner part of her leg, exerting just the right amount of pressure. She thought she would die. All her being was focused on his finger as it made its tantalising way to the spot she so craved it reaching.

She let out a sob of longing, thrusting her hips towards him urgently, desperately trying to bring his hand to her core. She felt once again a hardening against her and knew he was just as desirous of her. His self-control amazed and thrilled her, but she quickly focused back solely on his hand and what it was doing to her. It was now edging its way up her inner thigh, moving her knickers aside and when at last his finger found her inner folds she inhaled sharply. God, she knew she would not last long, her lust had been building up for so long now, she knew it would only take an instant touch of the taut bud of nerves at her centre to send her over the edge.

Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, he inserted a finger deep up inside her. It was quickly joined by a second finger and the shock of it made her fling her head back up with a gasp, her eyes darting open with pleasure and immediately meeting his. He let out a low hiss and in his eyes she read lust to match only hers. But apart from the increasingly engorged throbbing pinning her onto the desk, he was able to entirely restrain his body.

His fingers quested and coaxed inside her, causing her walls to clench around him. Her moaning and groans now the only sound in the room. She was so close now and her body sought that final release. She pressed down on his fingers, urging them to give her what she so desperately needed. The ache inside her was almost painful and just when she thought she could bear it no longer he slipped his fingers out, swept them slowly and deliciously up her inner folds and skilfully found the nub he knew she so needed him to.

It took only a firm but momentary rub from his fingertips and she was at last tipped over the edge. Her head fell back and her mouth opened in incoherent ecstasy. The ball of tension that she had felt inside for what seemed like forever finally broke and her body convulsed as exquisite pleasure swept over her in wave upon wave. She cried out loudly, his name torn from her lips, "_LUCIUS!"_

After what seemed an age, he slowly removed his hand from her core and backed away from her. She was grateful to have the desk behind her as she would have collapsed onto the floor otherwise. She gradually became aware of her surroundings and raised her head to look at him.

He met her eyes and although she could still not distinguish a clear meaning in them, there was a glow within which had not been there before.

There was nothing to say. They stayed staring at each other for a long while, then he inhaled deeply through his nose, adjusted his robes about him, turned and left the room.

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***thud***

**Will update tomorrow - same time, same place! Promise, especially if you let me know what you think! ;) x**


	11. Eleven: Discussion

**Here's chapter eleven for you!**

**More conversation, more disclosure ... will that help Hermione figure this man out or work out her own feelings for him? Hmm ...**

**Thank you for all the lovely comments and reviews, please carry on doing so if and when you have the time! x**

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Eleven - Discussion

Hermione remained in her office for several hours after he had gone. She achieved nothing, only sat, staring at the chair he had sat in, the spot he had stood in and the part of her desk he had held her against.

The tender flesh between her legs still throbbed with the memory of her orgasm and she replayed their encounter over and over again. Never had she achieved so palpitating a climax with hardly a touch. Apart from his hand, no other part of his flesh had made any contact with her at all. She vividly recalled the pressure of his engorged member against her, but what frustrating agony it was to have it sheathed under so many layers of clothing. But, God, she had been ready, desperate for him. She closed her eyes, that oppressive tension starting to build yet again within her. It had taken the bare minimum from him when at last the release was allowed. She felt slight anger that she had given up her pleasure so easily. There had been no removal of clothing, no exposed flesh, no kiss.

And why had that been it? Was he teasing her, denying her deeper satisfaction? Frustration and resentment built up inside her.

But then she realised, he had denied himself entirely, despite the rock-hard evidence that he had longed for her as much as she for him. God! He must give her more next time or she wondered if she could survive.

Panic suddenly surged in her. Would he return? She rushed from her desk and straight to Ormus's office, almost entering without knocking. He looked up in surprise.

"Umm ... sorry,Ormus ... you know I saw ... Lucius Malfoy this afternoon ... " she began erratically.

"Yes, Hermione, we saw him arrive. He was ridiculously early, wasn't he? Just like a Malfoy to play by his own rules. Did it go OK?"

"Uuh, yes, yes, it was ... very productive ..."she struggled to find the words, and knew she must be blushing. Luckily, Ormus was distracted by his work and didn't seem to notice. She continued, "I was just wondering, actually, if he had made another appointment? We ... uhh ... didn't have a chance to discuss it."

Ormus looked up again. "Well, of course he did, Hermione. He is obliged to attend as part of his rehabilitation. I think he arranged to come back on Monday. Check the precise time with Priscilla."

Priscilla was their secretary. She told Hermione his appointment was at 3pm.

Hermione was thrilled that he would be returning on the next working day, but reminded sharply that he was attending out of necessity, not choice. It stung her, and that, coupled with the fact that she still had to survive two days without him, only added to her malaise.

Time slowly passed and after five o'clock, she realised that Ron would be expecting her back. She returned to her office and slowly gathered her things. She could not bear the thought of leaving the place of such intense pleasure with the person who dominated her entire being. His scent still lingered in the air and evoked such a powerful memory in her that she instinctively leant back against her desk as she had under him earlier. The tight bud between her legs was crying out to be touched again and she found her head falling back and a deep sigh escaping her. The sound penetrated her consciousness and she was sucked into a vortex of confusion. Images flashed before her eyes: Ron smiling, Bellatrix's twisted form looming over her with her wand, Sirius falling through the veil, Harry and Ginny at dinner, Voldemort's eyes burning, Narcissa Malfoy searching for her son, Lucius, standing apart from her, looking on impassively as pain ripped her apart ... Lucius... his face a mere breath from hers, stroking her so exquisitely ...

With great effort she dragged herself up from the pit, clawing her way. When she finally found herself able to focus on the humble surroundings of her office again, she found tears streaming down her face and heard her own deep gasping sobs filling the room. She collapsed onto the floor, her mind and body broken with the weight of uncertainty, agony and desire that consumed her being.

Why was she letting this happen? There was no answer to it. The man was, or certainly had been, evil personified. Hermione's mind fought to remind herself of that, and yet, she was consumed by him entirely. He was her drug, and she knew she was only at the start of her addiction.

Hermione had spent her life seeking logic and reason and now she had tossed it aside in her quest for ... what? Mere sexual gratification? She knew the answer was deeper than that. The desire she felt for this man transcended the bounds of normal human lust. No, the connection between them went beyond anything she could have previously imagined, and yet, it was still such a mystery to her. She needed him ... body, mind and soul ... to solve this deepest of mysteries.

And what of Ron ...? It wasn't so much the fact that she had essentially cheated on him that bothered her. It was the fact that she felt no remorse, no shame, no guilt. The Hermione who was, and had earlier, been leaning against this desk, she disassociated from the Hermione who would in a moment go home, sit down to supper with him, share his bed. This thought terrified but fascinated her. '_What lies beneath you?'_ - Lucius' question hung in the air. She knew there had been many revelations that day. She knew Lucius was the key to unlocking more. By knowing him, she seemed to discover more about herself. But could she cope with what she discovered?

Eventually she picked herself up from the floor and gathering up her things, opened the door and left the Ministry.

She got home to find Ron sitting reading the Quidditch round-up. He had even managed to warm up some left-over casserole from the day before and he greeted her cheerily as she entered. Hermione was almost relieved to feel a brief pang of guilt prick her insides, but it passed quickly and she went to the bedroom to change.

As she took off her work clothes, the feel of Lucius against her returned vividly to her senses and as she wound down the stocking he had so sensuously fingered earlier, her insides churned yet again and she knew she would have to find her release. She collapsed onto the bed and allowed her fingers the access they required. She pushed two as deep inside her as she could, acutely aware that the last things to be in this sacred place had been his fingers. His image filled her head and she reached her other hand down to find her clit, while leaving her fingers nestled in her very centre. She stroked and rubbed the sensitive bud swiftly to a pulsing climax, feeling her walls clamp down on the fingers still inside. It gave her momentary respite, but she knew it was not enough and wondered how she could survive until Monday.

With her body's needs soothed, her mind turned to his extraordinary revelation of the Sorting Hat considering putting him into Gryffindor. It was staggering and Hermione struggled to comprehend its significance.

He had, after all, only been eleven at the time. Even if it had only been a brief thought during the sorting process, the hat must have detected something in him at that tender age, something honourable. An honourable Malfoy? The idea was almost ludicrous. But it filled Hermione with a deep sadness to think of how he had eventually turned out, so completely Slytherin, so far from the Gryffindor spirit. What had happened during his adolescence to lead him so far from that spark of hope that the hat had found?

And did any vestige of it remain? Kingsley's assertion that he had changed seemed to indicate that perhaps it did. And what did Hermione herself think? She sighed deeply, her conflicting thoughts and feelings making her weary. Despite the intensity of their first meeting, mentally and physically, it was clear that the mystery of Lucius Malfoy had merely deepened.

She rose slowly from the bed. For now, she would have to continue with the trace of her life.

The weekend passed and Hermione felt she had been able to maintain an aura of normality around Ron. They had even made love, so desperate was she for the constant ache inside to find some relief. However, she found none with Ron, and Hermione found herself slightly repelled by his body for the first time ever. She had lain studying it as he undressed, comparing him unfavourably to how she imagined Lucius' to be.

God, she hoped he wouldn't notice. She had frequently over the course of the weekend shut herself away from him and reached down yet again, between her legs, Lucius' name always on her lips as she came around her own fingers. But her mind also buzzed with questions and thoughts. It wasn't just her body that sought the deepest satisfaction from this man. Her intellect too itched to re-engage with him. God, let Monday arrive, she begged almost aloud.

It eventually did and she arrived early at the Ministry. As the day had at last arrived, she had a new spring in her step, and again turned heads with her confident, radiant appearance. As she swept past Priscilla into the office she threw a question in her direction. "Is my appointment with Lucius Malfoy still at 3 o'clock?"

Priscilla was caught unawares and had to hurry after Hermione into her office. "Uuh, no ... 11 o'clock, Miss Granger. He just sent an owl to bring it forward, actually. I hope that is satisfactory. Your diary seems to be clear."

Hermione stomach lurched; he had brought it _forward_? She turned to Priscilla, "Thank you, Priscilla, if that is the case then I'm sure it will be more that satisfactory." She felt a smile spread across her face, at the hidden innuendo of her words and the knowledge that he would be here in her office in just over an hour.

She spent the time going through her preparation for their meeting. Despite her physical longing for him, she was determined to probe deeper into his mind today. Try to find answers to the many extraordinary questions that had been raised during their last discussion. She would ask him about his upbringing, his parents and family, and hoped she would extract similar answers to his responses of last week.

At 11 o'clock exactly, she looked up. He stood in her doorway. He gazed down at her, eyes sparking, the jet black of his robes silhouetted further by the light behind. She swallowed hard, but remained composed, although was unsure what to say, considering the circumstances under which they had parted last time.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. I hope you are impressed with my punctuality."

Hermione resisted the urge to comment sarcastically on his change of time and simply extended her hand towards the chair, indicating for him to sit.

He closed the door behind him, hung his outer robes on the stand and sat down languorously in the chair, crossing his legs in front of him. Looking at her, he purred, "What's on the menu today, I wonder?"

Fixing her eyes into his, she did not move and simply maintained his gaze for as long as she dared. He raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched up briefly. It was the only acknowledgment between them of what had transpired on Friday, and she was surprised at her own audacity.

Then suddenly breathing in, she lowered her eyes and turned her attention to the questions she had prepared. She launched straight in.

"Tell me about your early childhood, before you went to Hogwarts."

Again, he surprised her by talking openly and seemingly without qualification, as he began recalling his early years.

"My childhood was spent entirely at the Manor. As I mentioned before, I had a tutor, who educated me in pureblood ways and the foundation of magic crafts and skills. I was already well-versed in them when I at last went to Hogwarts. My father was vigilant of my studies and kept a careful eye, ensuring that I achieved well in all areas. I do not recall ever testing his faith in me in that respect."

"In that respect...?" Hermione queried.

"No. I always achieved exceptional results in academic work."

That wasn't quite what she had meant, but felt that he would give no more away on the matter. She continued.

"What were your interests outside of your academic work?"

"Well, like every young boy, I followed the Quidditch League obsessively. It has remained a passing interest, and I have been proud of Draco's achievements in the sport, but I no longer enjoy it as I did. It is a bullish sport, which has lost so much of its refinement of late. There are no accomplished coaches these days." She noted the dig at Ron, but did not respond to it. "Apart from Quidditch, I enjoyed fencing, one of the few Muggle sports pure-bloods are permitted to take part in, and I played the cello."

"The cello? But all musical instruments are surely Muggle inventions?"

"Music, I'm sure you would agree, transcends all boundaries, Miss Granger."

"Well, of course I agree ... but I'm amazed you do."

He leaned forward slightly and spoke slowly and rather ominously, "Oh ... I'm sure I will amaze you in many ways yet, Miss Granger."

Her insides tingled, but she carried on. "Do you still play?"

"No. Other things ... interfered ... and Narcissa and Draco did not care for it." Hermione detected regret in his voice.

There was a change in him this time. The cold arrogance had diminished and he conversed ever more freely with her. She supposed their intimacy must have had something to do with it, but there was something else, something she could not fathom. She certainly no longer detected even a hint of threat towards her. Whatever the reason, she was emboldened and returned to talking about his schoolwork, with what she thought was an innocent question.

"And was your mother interested in your academic studies too?"

There was a long pause. She found he had lowered his gaze. Eventually he spoke, a flat tone to his voice. "My mother died when I was four. I have no real memory of her." He paused.

Hermione did not know whether she should speak or not. Then he suddenly spoke again, a wistful quality she had never heard before entering his voice. "I remember her beauty. Her face over me before I slept. Hair falling down and brushing against me. Blonde hair, deep grey eyes. That is all." He stopped.

Hermione could not speak. She felt tears prick her eyes, not only due to the sentiment he was expressing, but also due to who was speaking it. She had never believed Lucius Malfoy would talk so tenderly to anyone about his memories. She was humbled that he had spoken them to her, and mumbled words which sounded hollow in the heavy air between them, "I'm sorry." He could hear the emotion in her voice and looked up.

"More sympathy, Miss Granger? What a generous Gryffindor spirit you have." The sarcastic terseness had returned to his voice, but Hermione did not mind. She knew it was his way of coping with his revelations. She continued on what she hoped was a less emotive theme.

"And friends. Who were you friendly with before Hogwarts?"

"The Manor is in an isolated location. There were certainly no wizarding families in the area, and it was very hard to associate regularly with wizards of my age. Other pure-blood families came to visit and stay reasonably frequently and I had friends, I suppose you could say, among them. Although this was an intermittent occurrence, of course."

"Do you regret that lack of friendship?" sensing an opportunity, she dug further.

"Regret? That is a word I would never use, Miss Granger."

She wanted to ask about that alone, but thought it best to revert to her original intention. "Was there no-one else you could associate with?"

He took a long time to answer, but eventually was forthcoming. "When I was very young, there was a boy and a girl, a brother and sister, I dimly recall. They lived on the estate. We used to play in the woods around the Manor." His eyes glazed as if seeing himself all those years ago, then he shook himself slightly, as if wiping out the memory. "I was very young."

"They lived on the estate?" Hermione sensed something.

"Yes. Yes, I suppose. They had to. Where else would they live?" He became tetchy, his voice developing a defensive edge.

Hermione's confidence grew, as it did when she knew she was on the verge of a revelation and she pressed him. "But you said no wizarding families lived in the area."

"That is correct."

Silence.

"They were Muggles." Hermione spoke boldly, the realisation hitting her. It was not a question. She waited for his reaction as the tension threatened to engulf them.

"You are doing sooo well, aren't you, Miss Granger? You can go running off to Mr Shacklebolt and tell him what a clever girl you are and then trot off home to Mr Weasley and announce breathlessly how amazing your powers of extraction are. 100 points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger. Bravo." His sarcasm bit at her, dulling her pride in the revelation. But she felt somehow honoured that he was divulging this information so freely to her, and could only afford him the same respect.

"I can assure you, Mr Malfoy, any information you disclose here is strictly confidential. The Minister is only interested in your progress once involved in the Muggle world. I do not intend to tell him anything of these conversations. And as for Ron..." she trailed off.

"Yes...?" he teased.

"He doesn't even know I have this assignment with you. I will not be mentioning anything to him."

He stared at her, a faint smile on his lips, and Hermione became aware of the ache in her belly for the first time since she had started questioning him that morning, so focused had she been on their conversation. But now, it stirred itself rapidly and she quickly felt a wetness spread out from her core.

She was startled when he spoke, quite suddenly. He was studying his golden fob watch, a look of annoyance on his face. "I hadn't realised it was so late. I fear I must draw our discussion to a close. I have a meeting with my solicitor." She was shocked at his sudden foreclosure and her gut twisted in disappointment. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach.

He stood abruptly and headed for the door. She noticed his brow furrowed in concentration, and she was concerned their discussion had precipitated his premature departure, but then he stopped just as suddenly and turned swiftly towards her, the tension which had just contorted his features dispersing. "May I suggest accompanying you to lunch for our next meeting, Miss Granger? I think we would both appreciate a change of scene. Wouldn't you agree?"

The suggestion shocked her. She was not sure she could cope with being seen socialising with Lucius Malfoy just yet.

"That won't be necessary, Mr Malfoy."

"Oh, perhaps not necessary ... but still eminently desirable ... Hmm?"

He poured his words into her ear and she could not argue. She nodded in assent, "Alright ... but I don't want to go to a wizarding restaurant."

"Regrettably, I agree. That may make things a little difficult for us both. In that case, you will take me to a Muggle establishment. I'm sure you know of many. You can see it as part of your assignment."

She thought perhaps he was joking, his voice sounded as wry and sardonic as ever, but on looking at him, she detected no deceit in his face.

"I will meet you on the corner of the street opposite the telephone box above the Ministry at half past twelve on Wednesday. Until then, Miss Granger," he smirked deliciously at her, inclined his head slightly, picked up his robes and left.

After he had gone, Hermione was consumed with an immediate sense of loss. Her belly ached with longing but she equally felt ridiculously excited. The thought of being out with him anonymously, to all intents and purposes as a couple, thrilled her. She was amazed he had actually suggested going to a Muggle restaurant and concluded he wanted to be in her company as much as she did.

Ron was out at a match that evening and Hermione was glad to have the time alone to go over the day's events.

His revelations played in her mind. He had had Muggle friends as a child. Had his father known about this? How had the friendship affected him? It raised more questions than it answered, and she couldn't wait to explore further.

The familiar tension in her belly had not been alleviated today, and she mulled over his reasons for leaving when he did. Did he genuinely have a meeting? He had certainly seemed openly distracted and anxious when he noticed the time. Or was it an excuse not to have a repeat of Friday? Was he playing a game with her? She found herself unable to find an answer.

As she lay in bed alone that evening, the heavy darkness highlighted his image in her mind and reaching down between her legs, she found herself sodden from the mere thought of him. It took only a short time to bring her to shout his name in her climax, and she fell asleep peacefully, the prospect of their meeting on Wednesday providing an exciting edge to her dreams.

Tuesday passed torturously but uneventfully and she spent the evening sorting out paperwork and planning the next day. Ron had returned and noticed her concentration, and also her distinct lack of sexual interest. He once again went to sleep disappointed. Hermione, once again, spent longer in the bathroom than was strictly necessary.

Wednesday morning went painfully slowly, but at last noon came and went and at quarter past, Hermione went to the ladies' to check her subtle makeup and tidy her hair.

She swept her eyes over her body in the mirror, and imagined him doing the same, as he had done the night of the opera. She was pleased with what she saw and hoped he would be too. With that she glanced at her watch, and swept out of the Ministry.

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**Lunch with Lucius? Lucky her ...**

**Apologies for the lack of smutty stuff here - their relationship is a complex one which needs to be established, but don't worry - I will soon be making up for it!**

**Until tomorrow ...**


	12. Twelve: Lunch

**So - lunch with Lucius - me please!!**

**Big thanks still for all the lovely comments and reviews. Oh yes ... I still own no-one, to my deepest regret ...**

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Twelve - Lunch

As Hermione rose up to the telephone box, she half-doubted whether Lucius would be on the other side of the street as arranged. His cooperation and behaviour so far (the physical side of their relationship was another matter entirely) had, on the whole, shown little of the violence, cruelty and callousness she had seen him be capable of in the past, but she suspected he could change at any moment, just to toy with her for his own amusement. But as she turned to cross the road, there he was, that enticing smirk just visible on his face.

He was clearly not wearing his outer robes, and revealed a ¾ length black jacket, which reminded Hermione mostly of a Nehru jacket, with many buttons running down the centre, but was quite unlike any form of tailoring the Muggle-world was accustomed to. It was beautifully cut, and showed off his broad, svelte form to perfection. Smooth black trousers tapered below and his shoes glinted in the midday sun. He had tied his hair back discreetly as he had done at the opera, and stood proud and straight, despite the absence of his cane. He looked magnificent, and although unusual, would not appear too outrageous to Muggles, certainly not in London. Hermione could not contain her feeling of pride to be seen with such a man.

She crossed the street to him and looked up into his eyes, "Mr. Malfoy," she smiled.

He did not reply, but his smirk grew bigger and he merely turned slowly to head up the street. She walked steadily next to him.

"I thought we'd go to a restaurant I go to with some of my Muggle friends. Many of them have got jobs here in London now and we've got to know each other again after not really seeing each other properly since junior school."

He raised an eyebrow with bored disinterest. She smiled to herself at his predictability, and continued, "Quite a few Muggle politicians and eminent civil servants frequent it. It's an interesting place to people watch."

"_Muggle_ watch, Miss Granger? Do I strike you as the kind of person who wants to spend his lunchtime gawping at inadequate self-important Muggles?" He turned to her dismissively, but she countered without skipping a beat.

"Oh, I don't know, Mr Malfoy, based on your current behaviour, I'd say you'd be happy to give anything a go," she smiled to herself, deliberately not looking at him.

"In that case, I must try harder to live up to the Malfoy stereotype." She glanced up at him, a smile was playing on his lips.

They walked on, Hermione pointing out notable Muggle landmarks, Lucius deliberately feigning disinterest, but his occasional comments made her realise that he was actually well aware of the geography of London and the significance of its buildings.

"Goodness, Mr Malfoy," she teased, "if you carry on like this, there shall be no point in my tutorials. You seem to know all there is to know about Muggles already!"

"Miss Granger," he drawled wearily, "we do live in a multi-layered world after all. It would be dangerous and foolish to be completely ignorant."

Their banter was entrancing and Hermione felt herself flushed with high spirits as they continued down the road. Most people they passed glanced at him, and women in particular quite openly stared, some clearly trying to catch his eye and smiling. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy, but noticed that their looks were not reciprocated, and her feelings changed rapidly to pride. Many of the women had combined their coquettish smiles at him with a contemptuous glare at her. _He's with me_, she told herself and them, silently.

On reaching the restaurant, a smart, but discreet bistro off the Strand, Hermione was relieved there was a free table for two. She had been worried it would be full and that she would look foolish in front of him, but they were shown to a quiet table in the corner. The rather camp maitre d' gave Lucius a quizzical look, but was obviously impressed with what he saw. God, the men fancy him too, Hermione thought to herself.

They sat and studied their menus for a moment in silence, before Lucius spoke.

"And what do your Muggle acquaintances make of their friendly neighbourhood witch, then?" he didn't look at her, but continued to peruse his menu.

"They know nothing about my background. As far as they're concerned, I'm still plain old swotty Hermione Granger with the bushy hair who always sat at the front of class with her hand up. I wouldn't want to worry them with the reality of my life. I've told them I'm working as a researcher in an obscure government department with a minister no-one's ever heard of, and they know I have a boyfriend called Ron who is a sports consultant. They haven't met him. I haven't actually lied to them about anything, just been..."

"Economical with the truth...?" he finished her sentence smoothly for her.

"No harm in that," she quickly finished before jumping in with her choice of food. "Right, I'll have the duck breast. Do you want wine?"

"I'll deal with that." He caught the waiter's eye and he instantly appeared at their side. Hermione noted that that rarely happened to her or Muggles, and the corners of her mouth briefly pulled up.

"Miss?" the waiter inquired of Hermione.

"The duck, please."

"And sir?

"The fillet of beef. And a bottle of the Leoville Barton '90."

"How would you like your steak cooked, sir?" The waiter's French accent was clear.

"Bleu."

"M'sieur." The waiter took their menus and disappeared unobtrusively.

Lucius had ordered knowledgeably and impeccably. He had used a term used only normally in France, which essentially meant his meat would be singed on the outside, but virtually raw. It was rarely requested in Muggle England, and was certainly a term only confident gastronomes would employ. He had also smoothly requested a bottle of one of the best, and most expensive, wines on the menu. Hermione stared at him, taken aback by his knowledge and confidence. He never ceased to surprise her. Even the most Muggle-loving wizards had no need for this information, although they were missing out on a lot of life's pleasures by not knowing it.

He noticed her looking at him and guessed the reason. "As I said, Miss Granger, we live in a multi-layered world. We can enjoy the fruits of their labours, without actually having to enjoy _them_, can we not?"

She found his words distasteful and sighed to herself. He heard and commented laconically, "I disappoint you."

Her eyes darted up. "Mr Malfoy," she started, mockingly, "you plant a book on one of my best friends in order to possess her, you manipulate evidence to discredit and ruin said best friend's father, you hunt down my friends and I in order to apprehend and torture us, you give over your home to the most evil creature to ever walk this earth, _amongst other things,"_ at this she lowered her eyes, paused, then fixed him with them again. "How could you _ever_ disappoint _me_?"

A crushing silence descended over the table at her bitter sarcasm, and the reality of who they both were seemed to strike each of them. But instead of icy fury, he studied her intently and calmly. She held his gaze, more anger evident in her own eyes. He didn't rise to it, and her inability to read him infuriated her.

Eventually he spoke, quite calmly and directly, "You may be interested to know, Miss Granger, that _you_ do not disappoint me."

Her heart leapt into her mouth. All she could do was stare at him.

The honesty of his words assaulted her, and she was attacked by a volley of emotions: shame at her previous verbal assault on him, astonished delight at his praise of her, and self-effacing embarrassment that he had voiced it so openly. Silence hung between them and she stared deep into his eyes.

She could see no anger in them, no arrogance, and thought she could detect that same slight glow that she had first seen after their encounter over her desk on Friday. Neither lowered their gaze and they remained that way, without words, until the wine arrived a few moments later. It caused Hermione to shake herself out of her reverie, and Lucius also slowly refocused on the task at hand and, after glancing at the bottle, reached out to sniff the wine which had been poured into his glass. He inclined his head to the sommelier who proceeded to pour into his and Hermione's glasses.

They remained in silence for some time until Hermione broke it quietly but inquisitively. She could not quite believe she was doing so, but felt somehow that it was the right time to ask it. "What happened between you and Narcissa?"

At first, he said nothing, and Hermione thought she had gone too far, but then he spoke, as calmly and honestly as before. "After the war, we were shamed, excluded from society. Nobody wanted to associate with a Death Eater who had chosen the wrong side. Her attitude towards me changed quite rapidly. I had lost her respect, after the mess of the war. The incident with Draco and the Dark Lord was confusing and deeply disturbing. It made us all re-evaluate our lives. She withdrew her affection and admiration and grew very distanced from me. I tried to rebuild our relationship, but it seemed to have broken down irreparably.

"Over time, as I was receiving none myself, I lost my affection for her. Mutual resentment ate away at us. I couldn't understand how someone could change so profoundly, and her shift in personality made me almost despise her. She left the home first, and we now have as little to do with each other as possible, although our care for Draco is still as genuine as it ever was."

Hermione listened silently, allowing him the freedom to express himself as he wanted and clearly needed. She once again felt ashamed of her previous words and humbled that he now chose to speak so openly to her about a matter anyone would find painful. She found his explanation heart-breakingly honest and almost banally normal. Apart from the extraordinary matters of Voldemort and the war, the reasons he gave for the disintegration of their relationship sounded similar to so many marriages she had known. Silence once again hung over them, but neither made an effort to break it. Lucius stared beyond her, and Hermione allowed him the time.

After a while, their food arrived and after the usual inspection that people give on receiving a plate of food, Hermione smiled across at him.

He picked up his glass and raised it to her, "To multi-layered, cruel, beautiful life."

She paused, taking in his vivid words, then raised her glass in turn, put it to her lips and drank.

A drop hung across her lips and she slowly raised a finger and pushed it up toward her tongue which flicked out to gather it in. She glanced up in slight embarrassment at him and saw he was staring at her mouth in what seemed sheer wonder and delight, his mouth slightly open, a luminous glow in his eyes. They moved from her lips to her eyes and they both stayed stock still for what seemed an eternity, glasses in hand, staring into each other's eyes.

At length time ticked away at her mind and her stomach rumbled. She opened her mouth and, still not removing her eyes from his, gently said, "I'm hungry."

He smiled slightly and Hermione noticed a brief dance in his eyes which thrilled and enchanted her. With that, they both set about enjoying their food.

They talked pleasantly and easily after that, avoiding any emotive issues. She asked about Draco's job at Gringott's, he about the current intrigue and ineptitudes of the over-bureaucratic Ministry. She talked more than him, punctuating her discourse with frequent bouts of laughter when describing the more interesting characters at the Ministry. He listened attentively and seemed genuinely at ease with her company and conversation.

They stayed long after the waiter had cleared the plates and the subsequent coffee they had had. Hermione had remembered to book in an extended lunch break, so there was no fear of a repeat of her tardiness. It seemed an age now since their first meeting in Flourish and Botts, although in reality it was little over three weeks before. Hermione could not believe the change in her attitude to someone in such a short space of time.

Eventually, they got up to leave. Hermione had assumed she would have to foot the bill as he would carry no Muggle money on him, and had decided to charge some of the excessive cost to her expense account, but she needn't have feared. When the bill arrived, Lucius immediately withdrew copious amounts of crisp £20 notes with which to pay. She opened her mouth to speak, but one sharp look from him silenced her. "Don't even say it, Miss Granger. You would hardly expect me to allow you to pay for that wine, would you? Anyway, I seem to recall this whole thing being my idea."

Hermione felt ashamed that she had ever thought she would pay, and leaned into him, whispering, "Thank you for a lovely lunch."

After settling up (and even leaving a generous tip, Hermione noted) they gathered their belongings and headed for the door.

Just before they left, he suddenly turned to her, looking down at her momentarily, his former haughtiness apparent but muted, then slowly raised a bent elbow, offering his arm to her.

She was taken aback, and looked up at him with bemusement. His expression once again revealed little, but his slender arrogance merely added to his magnetism. She glanced back down at his firm forearm, then slipped her hand through the crook in his proffered elbow, unable to hide completely the smile on her face. With that, they left the restaurant and headed out into the hectic London streets.

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**Oh, to be Hermione ...**

**Please continue to let me know what you think, I do so appreciate it.**

**I will try very hard to update the next chapter sooner than I have been doing - it will be worth it (I hope!) x**


	13. Thirteen: Frustration

**Here you go ... thank you so much for your continuing and lovely reviews, especially the anonymous ones whom I cannot reply to personally. Thank you thank you!**

**Beware! Things are hotting up considerably, and will continue to do so as the chapters progress ...**

**All the important people still belong to JKR - *sigh***

**Enjoy! x**

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Thirteen - Frustration

They walked silently but contentedly through the streets, Hermione's hand resting on his forearm. She felt it firm and rigid under her touch, enjoying the thick smooth texture of his jacket. She was reminded of when she had found herself clutching onto his robes to steady herself that first time and realised how different the emotions that played in her head were now. One remained however. She now admitted that she had felt undiluted lust for him even then and had ever since. She allowed her fingers to curl slightly on him and knew he would feel it.

As they turned onto a busy shopping street, the crowds became oppressive and it became hard to walk without bumping into people. Lucius was clearly becoming frustrated by the experience and Hermione did not want to spoil the mood of the lunch. She knew a back way that was slightly longer, but away from most people. She started to hurry him along and when she got to the place, pulled him into a narrow street, away from the sea of thronging Muggles. They hurried down it, turning a corner into an even more deserted alley.

She laughed out loud, "God! I'm sorry! From one extreme to the other. Wonderful Muggle food, Muggle wine, but then out into nasty smelly Muggle hordes, enclosing us all around!" She widened her eyes and waved her hands in a silly gesture denoting the smelly Muggle hordes.

Out of breath, she threw back her head to draw in air and continue her bell-like laughter, when suddenly he caught her.

He caught one of her arms and spun her round into him with such force, the breath was taken out of her and she found herself locked against his chest, his arms tightly pressing her into him. At first she didn't look up, just stared at the jet black of his jacket, as she had that first time in the bookshop. She could hardly breathe, being clasped so tight to him, but what breath she had came hard and fast, as did his. Their chests rose and fell against each other as if struggling to get closer. But her lack of oxygen merely caused the heat spreading through her to grow ever more intense and unbearable.

She slowly raised her head and met his eyes. The lust burning in them was so evident now and inflamed her yet more. He released his hold around her back and brought his hands slowly, but firmly up her arms, sending sparks of excitement to her core. He drew them deliberately across her shoulders and his fingers worked their way up her neck, causing a moan to escape her lips as her head fell back slightly, trying to increase the pressure of his hands. He brought them up to her face and cupped them around her ears, tilting her head to look deep into her eyes. As their eyes locked once more, he gazed at her with an intense curiosity that sent a jolt of electricity through her to the very point where she most needed release.

Her breathing was so rapid now and her heartbeat echoed fast in her head. His breath flitted over her face, still tinged with the aroma of the wine. It intoxicated her senses yet further and she thought she may explode. She begged with her eyes for him to close the distance between them. Her mouth fell open and her tongue briefly flicked over her lips distractedly. He pulled in a breath and moved down slowly towards her, at the same time, lifting her face up gently to meet him.

So close.

This time. _This time_.

His lips touched hers. Her insides jerked.

_At last. At last._

It was the briefest of touches, and then he withdrew slightly to hover over her, brushing her lips with his breath. Then he moved down once more and again ghosted over them, rubbing so lightly, she barely knew if he was real or not.

She moaned into his open mouth, eliciting a groan in response, and this time he pressed more firmly down onto her. But still so tender. His tongue flitted out and tantalisingly traced over her top lip, then did the same to the bottom. Hermione tried to reach out with her lips to capture it and draw it into her, but he pulled back. She ached with longing for him and found tears coming to her eyes at the exquisite agony of it all.

Then finally he clasped her head in his hands even more firmly and brought his lips down hard on hers. Such was the somersault from deep inside her that she thought she would come right there, but she refocused solely on his mouth and what it was doing to her. His lips were hungry now, parting hers urgently and forcing his tongue into her mouth. She met it with her own and they danced in dizzying circles for as long as she could bear. Then she relaxed her tongue and her mouth, letting it drop open languorously and allowed him to taste her, tracing over the roof of her mouth, the sides, then back to her tongue, teasing, licking, sucking. She was delirious with the pleasure, and despite it being focused on this one part of her body, felt as if her whole being was being stimulated.

His assault on her mouth was violent now, and his sudden show of intense passion startled her; there was a danger to it but it only served to ignite her more. His hands were in her hair, twisting it in his fingers, forcibly turning her head to grant him better access to her. He backed her urgently against the hard brick wall and she met it with a dull thud. A groan escaped her, but this merely fuelled his fire and he breathed hard into her mouth, "What you do to me, witch ... _what you do to me_..."

His left hand dropped down from her head and stroking down her body, found her breast. He kneaded it hard, causing her to moan, a deep long moan borne of so much frustration at last finding release. She brought her leg up round him, drawing him into her, and even through their layers of clothing she could feel his iron hardness against her. Her insides burned and she longed to feel him, see him. She reached up to the buttons on his jacket, but before she could get there, his hands had swept hers aside and were at her shirt. He momentarily attempted to undo some of her buttons, but gave up quickly and, holding the material brutally in both hands, ripped it apart violently.

His hot hands quickly pulled her bra down to expose her lush young breast and he grabbed it hard, squeezing and rubbing. After a brief satisfied look at what he had in his hand, he lowered his head swiftly and took the nipple into his hot, urgent mouth, sucking it deep inside, laving it with his tongue. The deepest pleasure spread from that pinpoint of delight through her body, channelled towards her throbbing core. A groan sobbed its way from her being and she reached up to clasp his hair, holding his head tight to her.

Then quite suddenly and unexpectedly he bit down on her nipple with his teeth. Hermione's eyes shot open and she gasped loudly as an exquisite sensation of pleasure and pain engulfed her. Her head fell back and her eyes rolled over. He raised his eyes slightly to look at her, groaning deep into her breast at the sight of her blissful face above him.

She could bear no more, and at last forced out the same words that had come to her before, "Please ... please ... need you now ... god ... _please, Lucius _..."

The sound of his name, coupled with her digging her leg into him to draw his hardness yet closer to her burning centre, made him throb painfully. With a supreme effort he paused slightly, drawling, "Patience," as teasingly reproachful as he could muster.

Lowering his head again, he turned his attention to her other breast, pulling down the bra cup forcefully and revealing the second heaving mound. Both breasts were forced up in a deliciously erotic manner over her bra, and he grabbed her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it agonisingly but deliriously. His mouth found the left nipple, and he repeated the ritual again, sucking and licking it long and hard, then biting down, all the while continuing his exquisite torment to the other with his fingers, sending an electric jolt straight to her hungry centre.

Hermione was sure she could come from his attention to her breasts alone, but ached with longing and agony to see his member, hard, firm, rigid in front of her, then feel it plunging deep into her core.

She begged, tears in her eyes. "Please...I can't stand it...want you inside me..._need to see you...Lucius_...want to feel you...please...fuck me..._please...fuck me now_..."

He let out a low, guttural groan at her words, so unfamiliarly dirty but desperate on her tongue. The sound which they drew from him was so erotic that Hermione joined it with a deep moan of her own. She pulled her eyes open to gaze at him as he lifted his upper body away from hers. His left hand grabbed down to lift her skirt up and his other reached down to his belt. _Yes_. Finally ... _finally_.

At that moment, a door nearby opened and a voice shouted out from all too close, "Oi! Wotchoo doin'!? I'm not havin' no bleedin' shaggin' goin' on round the back of this place. I'm callin' the police!"

They froze. Agony etched on their faces. Quickly readjusting their clothing as best they could, Lucius grabbed Hermione round her waist, drew out his wand and, as their discoverer glanced down at his mobile, apparated them both back to her office at the Ministry.

They felt dizzy and nauseous when they arrived, although Lucius managed to hide his discomfort well. Hermione collapsed into her chair, trying to control her spinning head, pulling her jacket over her ripped shirt. Without any time to take stock of what had just transpired, the door suddenly burst open and Ormus walked in, some papers in his hand.

He stopped abruptly and looked utterly gobsmacked at what he saw. "Hermione! I had no idea you were here. I was just dropping off some papers. I thought you were still at lunch. I didn't see you come back." Ormus turned his astonished eyes to Lucius, suspicion evident on his face. "Malfoy. I hadn't realised you had an appointment today. I don't recall you entering the office. Kindly inform my secretary when you arrive."

Lucius spoke calmly and lucidly, without revealing a trace of what had just happened. "I arrived some time ago actually. Your secretary wasn't there, so I took the liberty of waiting in Miss Granger's office. Miss Granger has just arrived back from her lunch break. She must have slid back in during a moment of inattention from your secretary. I do apologise for any confusion caused."

Hermione couldn't help smiling at the fluid skill with which he covered their tracks and added the little dig at Priscilla.

"Well, you'll have to go," Ormus said tersely, then turned to Hermione. "Hermione, I've arranged a meeting with Kingsley in half an hour to discuss the feedback from the opera night. As your diary was clear, I assumed it would be alright. Malfoy can arrange another time."

Hermione bristled with anger towards her boss. The way in which he referred to Lucius so dismissively in the third person in front of him was especially insulting and she found herself speaking without thinking.

"Ormus_, _I am surprised you take it upon yourself to organise my diary at such short notice without consulting me. Luc..._ Mr _Malfoy has made a special effort to come here and should not be dismissed so callously."

Ormus stiffened visibly and spoke with a hard edge to his voice, "Miss Granger, I think you should ..."

"Yes, Miss Granger, it is of no matter," Lucius smooth tones quickly interrupted him. "I was in town anyway and merely stopped by on the off-chance that you may have the time to accommodate me. Unfortunately, that has not been possible on this occasion. But I'm sure we will be able to get together very soon indeed. I look forward to it with the utmost anticipation." He fixed her with his eyes, the lust still evident in them.

Hermione stood in shock, so many thoughts and feelings coursing through her she could hardly function. She wanted simultaneously to laugh out loud at his audacious but hilarious innuendo, reach out and grab him, finishing what they had started earlier, punch Ormus for sabotaging their time together so rudely, and burst into tears at the agonising, unrequited ache that raged inside her still. As it was, all she could do was stand rigidly, mouth open in despair, staring at them both.

There was an awkward silence. It was clear Lucius found it painful to leave like this, but eventually he bowed his head to her, looking as deeply into her eyes as possible without searing her mind, turned elegantly and left, without an acknowledgement to Ormus.

Hermione felt a sob well up inside her, and only just managed to stifle it. She sat safely behind her desk, ignoring Ormus. At length, he spoke to her, sounding disturbingly like Professor McGonagall handing out detention.

"Hermione, I'm sorry to have disturbed your plans for this afternoon. But you have an obligation to organise your meetings in advance. There was nothing in your diary to indicate you were busy. It is important we have this follow-up meeting with the Minister. It has been over a week now since the opera. Kindly remember that you are in Ministry employ and are here to do as we request, not play out your little fantasies of reforming former Death Eaters."

Her head shot up and she fixed him with a shocked, furious stare. Had he actually just said that? Her anger mixed with guilt as he touched so raw a nerve.

But before she reacted impulsively again, the reality of her situation crashed down on her and she lowered her head. She had been rightly rebuked for her hot-headed words and knew she should offer some sort of explanation.

"I'm sorry, Ormus. I don't like aggravating people, especially people like Lucius Malfoy." She meant it, but not for the reason he thought. "I have a lot on at the moment. I suppose I'm tired and a bit over-wrought."

Ormus sighed, and smiled slightly down at her. He seemed satisfied. "Come on, Hermione. Let's go and see the Minister, get this feedback session over with. None of us can be bothered quite frankly, but it has to be done."

Hermione smiled apologetically up at him. She would have to try to put all that had happened, and not happened, to the back of her mind. Unfortunately, the constant throbbing ache deep in her belly would not allow her to.

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**Aaaaaarggghhhhh! Cold shower time!**

**I know, I know ... I'm evil (well, not really, but there's nothing like good ol' fashioned tension!)**

**As Lucius says - "Patience" !!**

**Feel free to vent your frustration (or any other emotion you feel appropriate!) in a review.**

**x**


	14. Fourteen: Return

**So ... Hermione seems to be reevaluating her idea of 'responsibility' - that's what Lucius lust does to you ...**

**Still, she may have to face up to things at some point ...**

**A big thank you for all the lovely reviews again. Wanted to update this chapter earlier, but life got in the way - sorry! Promise to update the next chapter late this afternoon UK time ...**

**This is a shorter chapter, but significant ...**

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Fourteen - Return

The meeting with Shacklebolt was as dull as they had all expected it to be and took up the rest of the afternoon. The general consensus was that the muggle get-togethers were a good thing and should be continued, but the evening had highlighted some dangers, such as the risk of exposure, and magic being used inadvertently. At just after 5 o'clock, Hermione was at last able to leave the Ministry.

She took a long time to walk home. It was a beautiful, early summer evening and London seemed full of relaxed, happy people, most of them couples, enjoying the romantic pulse in the air. Hermione smiled as a couple reaching for a kiss almost swerved into her. They giggled apologetically, but she merely held up her hand to indicate it was inconsequential and walked on, jealous of their happiness.

She was desperate for him. She remembered their walk through the streets at lunchtime and, despite the slightly bizarre facts of describing a Muggle world to a wizard while the population of London passed by unawares, she was struck by how normal it had felt.

Her walking slowed as she thought about the dichotomy of this. Ignoring the overwhelming physical desire he obviously provoked, she was utterly bemused by the fact that she seemed to connect with this man so easily on a conversational and emotional level, this man who four years ago did not deserve to be referred to as such. It still made no sense to her. Her knowledge of his past, which she had witnessed herself, the suspicions of her colleagues and friends, all told her that this was madness and should not be happening, and yet there was nothing inside her mind or body which made her withdraw from him.

And now more and more she wished to delve deeper into his psyche, his soul. For, contrary to what she may have suspected before, he had revealed quite freely to her that he did indeed have one.

She passed the side street they had turned down earlier to escape the crowds and her longing for him intensified. They had been so close, so close at last to that fulfilment she so craved and needed. God, she thought she would die without it. She stopped dead, her breathing becoming heavier. She raised her head up, gasping down air in a vain attempt to sweep away her desire.

"Watch out, love!"

A man jolted against her shoulder and she came to, mumbling an apology. Aware once more of her surroundings she realised her face was sodden with tears and quickly pulled out her handkerchief to wipe them away. Then she continued walking.

She walked and walked, over bridges, through parks, along unknown streets, far from her flat. It eventually grew dark and a slight awareness pricked her consciousness that she would be expected home.

Home. The word sounded hollow and meaningless in her head. She could think of no place she wanted to be less.

And Ron ... Ron. In contrast to Lucius that day, he seemed to her suddenly the most immature, uncultured, ignorant, intolerant yob she could imagine. She shocked herself with the spite of her thoughts but could not deny them. She knew there was more to life than Quidditch League standings and the latest broomstick wax. How had she ever...?

She stopped herself, reeling at the revelations her mind had so suddenly thrown at her.

She had to get back to her flat. He would be worried. The habit and routine of her life nudged her to feel concern for him and, ascertaining where she was, she turned and headed back.

It took her nearly an hour to reach the door. She could have apparated, but it reminded her all too painfully of her experience earlier in the day.

As soon as she opened the door, she sensed the tension. He was standing in the middle of the room, rigid. He took a few steps towards her, but then stopped to let his emotions fly.

"'Mione! Where the hell have you been? I was so fucking worried about you! Shit, 'Mione, I nearly had Harry round. I was going to use the invisibility cloak and get on a broom to look for you."

His words registered on her mind, and she felt some remorse that she had caused distress to anyone, but realised that it did not bother her any more that it was Ron she had upset.

"I'm sorry," she muttered instinctively. "We had a really long meeting and then I just had to clear my head. I've been walking."

"Walking!?" He was angry now. "Do you know what the bloody time is?! It's nearly 11 o'clock! I've been going out of my fucking head!"

His foul language had never bothered her before, and she used it herself when the occasion warranted (that had been very evident today), but his course words sounded ugly and vulgar now, and did nothing to make her warm to him. She became defensive.

"You know what, Ron? You may be happy to sit here, planning the best starting line-ups and flight formations, but other people need to get out and actually _think_ sometimes. Experience what's out there, think about the day's events, enjoy the atmosphere, get some space, sort their head out, whatever..."

"Sort their head out? Yeah, well, maybe you bloody well should. I dunno what the hell's been going on with you lately, Hermione, but it's doing my head in. One minute you're shagging me senseless, the next you don't wanna know. You don't talk to me about anything anymore, and what the fuck was all that bloody business at the opera!? And then the next day, you're as high as a kite and dressed like a Knockturn Alley tart! Reckon I'm the one who needs the bloody space!"

His words, shouted bitterly at her, wounded and shamed her, but she reacted with anger. Grabbing her coat, which she had taken off only moments before, she turned on her heels and left, shouting behind her, "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't you dare send anyone after me. I can look after myself!"

She rushed down the stairs and out of the door, relieved, but slightly surprised to see he did not follow her. She hurried around several corners and then slowed. She rested against a wall, her head falling back onto it. It reminded her of the feel of the brickwork on that other wall she had been leaning against that day. The fire in her blood changed swiftly from anger to desire and her body heaved with longing for one man who was at that moment so far from her. She felt a brief pang of guilt at how quickly she could dismiss her argument with Ron, but quickly swept it aside. She reached into her coat to bring out her wand. She knew what she had to do.

Glancing down at the wand in her hand, she twirled it briefly before muttering some words. She disappeared with a pop.

_________________________________________________________________

The apparition made her reel once again on arrival. As she shook off the dizziness she glanced around and let out a sharp exhale on realising she had reached her intended destination.

She was standing outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

The night turned suddenly chill around her and the reassuring hum of the city had been left far behind. Hermione became aware of her solitude and shivered. She stared up at the formidable edifice, its towers rising ominously into the moonlit night, the windows blinking eerily at her.

The reality of where she was hit her. Her mind clouded and her vision swam. The last time she had been here she had been bound, tortured, nearly put to death. Nausea swept over her as the images of that horrific day filled her mind. Once again her piercing screams rent her mind. She nearly collapsed.

She staggered and fell forwards, her hands just grasping the gates in time. They juddered against her, a loud metallic clang sounding in the cold night air.

_What was she doing?_ This was wrong. This was all wrong.

Somewhere from within the grounds a dog barked, the sound hit her and she glanced around, panic starting to set in. It was as if time was being reversed. She was there again, in the drawing room, the wand pointing at her, sneers, curses. She saw the words mouthed silently, over and over again, and the pain ... the pain ... Her body collapsed in remembered agony and she fell heavily to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. She forgot her surroundings, forgot how she had got there, her whole being was consumed with terror, agony, screaming, inescapable screaming. She curled herself up foetally, desperately clasping her arms around her legs to become small, invisible ... make it stop ... _make it stop _...

And then hands holding her, not brutally, but firmly, pulling her up. That smell ... musk ... spices ... it had been there that night. She fought against the arms holding her, pummelling with her fists, kicking, screaming, tearing at the robes in front of her, black robes, jet black. No more. _No more_. The arms did not let her go, but one clasped around her waist tightly, pressing her flailing arms into her sides and the other came up to cup her face. It gripped her jaw firmly, holding her head still. She heard the voice through her screams.

"Open your eyes. Open your eyes." That voice. So familiar. Her screams subsided and she heard her own breathing, desperate and heaving. The arms holding her tight did not relax, but she felt safe now. And although that smell remained, it now calmed and soothed her.

She blinked, her sight slowly coming back into focus. The voice again. "Look at me. _Look_ _at me_."

Her breathing slowed and she felt the cool night air on her skin. She raised her eyelids heavily and looked striaght into the deep grey eyes, letting out a long gasp of revelation. His fingers relaxed slightly on her cheeks and his thumb moved softly over her.

"Hermione," Lucius Malfoy whispered down to her.

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**... ... ...**

**Let me know what you think ... next one up this afternoon GMT!**

**x**


	15. Fifteen: Past

**OK, this is quite an intense chapter, but crucial. I have invented some more backstory for Lucius, and I hope it is believable and fitting to his character with regard to JKR and how I am now developing things here.**

**I am still so grateful fo the very kind reviews and comments you all leave. Thank you so much.**

**Please note that I uploaded the previous chapter to this earlier today, UK time, so this is not the first update of the day! You don't want to miss that one, or this one will make little sense. (I really don't need to tell you guys that, I just worry a lot!)**

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Fifteen - Past

Hermione had only just become aware of where she was and whom she was with, but his use of her first name penetrated right to her soul. He spoke it with such tenderness it was like a balm and soothed the feverish memories that had beset her. Tears streamed down her face, but she clung to him, as she had done at various times and in various circumstances before, refusing to unlock her eyes from his for fear he would disappear.

They remained like that for what seemed like hours, he stroking away her tears with his thumb while her breathing steadied and her heartbeat slowed. At length he spoke, "I am going to have to take you inside." He felt her stiffen. "I'm sorry. You need to get out of the cold and drink something. There is no other way. Nothing will happen to you. I won't let it. I promise."

He spoke with such depth and sincerity, so different from what she would have expected of him before, that she had instinctively believed in him and lowered her head in assent. She tried to walk but her legs buckled under her. He immediately bent down and picked her up in one fluid movement, just as he must have done that night at Covent Garden. His robes and his unique scent were so familiar to her now and she felt safer than she could imagine being anywhere. Her arms came up to curl around his neck and she buried her head in the lush black material. His feet crunched on the gravel as he made his way up the long drive to the house. It crossed her mind that he must have raced to get to her after presumably being alerted to a presence with the rattling of the gate and the dog barking.

As they entered the manor, she glanced around at the interior. It was familiar to her, and made her uneasy, but no more; his presence seemed to absorb her trauma. She had been brought this way that night but could remember few details of her surroundings. Strangely now she was struck by the elegance and grace of the building, with its fine oak panelling, leaded windows and tapestries. It was exquisite. A clock ticked heavily then chimed twelve times.

She glanced over to her left. There was a door. For a moment her blood instantly froze and her skin crawled. It had been in there. She set her mind firmly, resolved to beat this feeling. Lucius swiftly turned to their right and carried her through to an elegant, but not overly large sitting room hung with a deep green. A fire was fading in the hearth and a half empty glass of wine stood on a table. He put her down gently on the sofa, propping her up carefully against the cushions.

"Stay here. I shall fetch you a drink."

She reached out to him, fearful of being left alone. He turned back to her, kneeling beside her.

"It's alright. I shall only be a moment. You need something." He left swiftly.

She closed her eyes and nestled into the sofa. It was large and deep and she feared she would drift off to sleep, as exhaustion wracked her body.

He returned swiftly with a tray on which were a glass of water, another glass and a bottle. He set it down on the table, and spoke gently, "You have a choice, but I suggest a small drop of firewhiskey. It will ease your mind." He poured her a glass and she took it gratefully. She sipped the golden liquid and felt it burn on the way down, the taste disagreeable but still infusing a glow within her. The glow intensified on looking up into the sublime face of the man kneeling on the floor in front of her.

"Thank you," she murmured. "Again."

He said nothing but continued studying her with a gentle intensity, different from any expression she had seen on him before. She suddenly felt foolish for having come and thought he must be thinking what a stupid little mudblood she was. She lowered her eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

He raised his eyebrows quizzically at her, still not speaking.

She continued, "I'm sorry for arriving here in the dead of night and causing such an unholy disturbance. As you say, I really must grow up."

With that, he leaned over abruptly, took her head in his hands and kissed her long and deep. It was less aggressive than earlier, but the passion captured in it was so intense that she once again found tears coming to her eyes. He broke away with difficulty and spoke, "You must sleep. You have suffered a severe trauma. Your body and mind need to recover and rest. My house elf will show you to a room."

He stood up. Hermione was bewildered and slightly disappointed, but acknowledged that she was too exhausted to contemplate anything but the deepest of sleeps. She knew he was acting out of concern for her. Now that she was inside the house, her mind seemed strangely eased. She had survived entering the house and seeing the door to the room where she had been held. She felt newly empowered and knew she would be able to sleep, even here.

A house elf appeared and Hermione was relieved and a little surprised when Lucius spoke civilly to it. "Tibby, please show Miss Granger to the Swan Room. Ensure she has anything she requires at her disposal."

Hermione gingerly stood to leave and was relieved to find her legs seemed to be working properly again. As she turned to follow the elf, Lucius spoke to her, "My room is not far away. If you require anything in the night, simply call. I shall hear. But you must try and sleep."

She was reassured by his words and, despite her exhaustion, her belly felt a jolt and her skin tingled at his proximity. She looked at him, whispered, "Thank you," and made her way carefully out of the room behind the elf.

Lucius Malfoy walked to the door behind her and watched her every step as she made her way up the stairs and out of his sight.

__________________________________________________________________________

When Hermione awoke the next day, the first thing she became aware of was how incredibly well she had slept. She kept her eyes tight shut, enjoying the feeling of utter relaxation and peace. She moved her legs under her and felt soft, smooth material, it could only be silk. She lay under a beautifully soft duvet, covered in the same material, and she seemed to have some sort of satin nightgown on. Confusion filled her mind for a moment, then she suddenly remembered where she was. She sat bolt upright, her body quickly jolted to life.

She looked around the room. She was lying in a large four poster bed, strewn with silks and embroidered quilts and cushions. Opposite her bed was a vast fireplace and above it hung a beautiful tapestry of a swan, gliding on a pool with red roses strewn about it. It looked Elizabethan. Heavy deep red curtains hung at the window, which stretched from floor to ceiling, but Hermione could detect bright sunlight poking in around the edges. She thought it must be late.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Hermione drew the bedclothes around her and called hesitantly, "Come in." The door opened and the house elf put her head around the door.

"Good morning, Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy says there is breakfast ready in the dining room when you wish. There are clothes for you in the wardrobe and you are to make yourself at home. He sends his deepest regrets, but he has had to go out for a short time. He acknowledges that certain parts of the house may be disturbing to you, but assures you that it is impossible to access that particular room. It has been magically sealed off since the war."

Hermione wondered at her words. It was reassuring to her, but even she could recall that it must have been one of the largest, most important reception rooms in the house. And he had chosen to seal it off completely? The decision sparked her curiosity but made her warm to him even more.

However, she still felt despondent at the thought that he would be absent from the house, and asked anxiously, "Did he say when he would return?"

"I am to expect him back for lunch, Miss."

Her mood lightened a little. "And what time is it now?"

"It is approaching ten o'clock, Miss."

Panic suddenly overtook her. "Oh Merlin! It's Thursday! I'm supposed to be at work! And Ron – he'll be sending out a search party at this rate!"

"My master asked me to tell you that he anticipated this concern. He says the Ministry has been informed that you are feeling unwell and will not be at work today and that Mr Weasley has been told that you are staying with your parents for a short time. They received owls with communications in your own hand. He hopes you do not mind him taking the liberty."

Hermione felt as if she should be affronted at his presumption, but felt only sweeping relief and admiration for his quick-thinking. "Thank you ... I'm sorry, what was your name again?" She addressed the elf politely.

"Tibby, Miss." The elf turned to go.

Hermione could not resist calling it back. "Tibby!"

"Yes, Miss?"

She hesitated, fearing the answer she may receive. "Does Mr Malfoy treat you well?"

"Oh yes, Miss. I am a free elf. I choose to work here because I am treated fairly and with respect."

Hermione was thrilled with what she was hearing but could hardly believe it.

"Tibby. Are you aware of Mr Malfoy's past, especially with regard to house elves?"

"Yes, Miss, I was warned. Much has happened since that time, Miss. We are all able to change, are we not? I am very satisfied with my position." She bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Hermione sat in the vast bed wondering about what she had heard. Was he simply presenting a respectable image to avoid Azkaban? Or was it more confirmation of a fundamental transformation? But why? Could it simply be that the person he was before was not entirely evil? That it hadn't taken that much to turn him back? Her mind replayed the image of his desperate search for his son in the Great Hall, his face a picture of pure anguish at the thought that he might have lost him. The Sorting Hat had nearly put him in Gryffindor all those years ago, after all. What had happened in his past to turn him to Voldemort, to follow the Dark Lord with such rigour and desperation? Hermione was determined to find answers to some of the questions raging in her mind.

Her stomach groaned loudly into the echoing room. She remembered the promise of breakfast downstairs and, lifting the bedclothes, got out of bed and put her feet onto the broad oak floorboards. A robe lay on a chair near the foot of the bed, with some slippers placed under it. She put them on, they fitted perfectly.

She made her way down the panelled corridor and found a bathroom quite easily. She filled the bath and lowered herself gently into it, allowing the hot water to caress her limbs. As she lay in the deep tub, her mind wandered back to yesterday and she felt once again his hands on her breast, and his lips, tongue, teeth. She reached down and flicked her fingers over her nipples, a groan of desperate remembrance escaping her. Her other hand reached quickly down between her legs, but she found that her stomach rumbled again in protest. She really was starving. It would have to wait. Lucius would be back soon. Perhaps ... she found herself smiling at the prospect of ... whatever his return would bring.

On returning to her room, she opened the wardrobe and found a selection of elegant clothes inside, robes and Muggle clothes. She wondered who they belonged to. She remembered Narcissa as being taller than her, and scrawnier, but these clothes seemed to be exactly Hermione's size, and the sort of things she herself would choose.

She pulled out some dark jeans, and a close-fitting strappy top. She finished it with a short cardigan and ballet pumps. They looked like they were made for her.

She made her way down to breakfast, avoiding even a glance towards the sealed door, and despite arriving a long while after Tibby had told her it was ready, she found the food freshly prepared and piping hot. She sat at the long table in the dining hall, feeling rather insignificant in the vastness of the room. The food was glorious and after finishing a huge plateful of bacon, sausage, toast, eggs and mushrooms, something she would never do at home, she sat back feeling relaxed and satisfied.

Tibby came to clear the table and she thanked her and rose. She returned to the hall, determined to confront any lingering unease she felt in the house, and studied the portraits and ornaments which adorned it. The door was in her peripheral vision, but she stood firm, surprising herself with her own fortitude. There was a prominent portrait of Lucius, next to one of Draco. Both had the Malfoy supercilious patronising stare and were smirking down at her. She expected it of Draco, and would have of his father in the past, but now wondered what lay behind that expression. Surely it was a mask, just as real as his Death Eater mask she had seen him wear too often. She stared up into the grey eyes looking down at her. God, he was beautiful, even though this portrait had obviously been painted long before the second war. Despite the haughty expression, his eyes twinkled. She felt the longing inside her and the ache deep down, supplanting any feelings of insecurity and dread which had lingered. She moved away before she found herself doing something embarrassing in the hallway.

She walked slowly out into the gardens. They were beautifully planned and maintained and she felt completely relaxed as she walked around in the warm summer sunshine. Her fear of the Manor had all but vanished. She felt empowered, as if she had won a round against the demons tugging at her soul.

After a while, she returned to the house and went into a room which she recognised as the place he had taken her last night. It was a beautiful room, not only elegantly decorated, but also surprisingly warm and welcoming. She thought about the family times that must have been spent here, and a pang of something twinged her ... jealousy ...regret ... she could not place it.

She left it through a side-door and found herself this time in a smaller room, which seemed to be used as a study. She approached a portrait hanging above the fireplace. The elegant but severe face of a wizard stared down at her. He raised himself up when she approached, looking disdainfully at her. He had the same bone structure as Lucius and looked almost identical to him, apart from his colouring, which was the opposite. This man had dark hair and brown eyes, which were hollow and empty. The portrait was disconcerting and Hermione felt an unease creep over her. She wished it was not enchanted and would stop sneering down at her.

"My father." A voice spoke flatly behind her, she spun around. Lucius was standing in the doorway behind her, staring up at the portrait with an empty expression.

Hermione's insides flipped and she had to stop herself running over to him and flinging her arms around his neck. Something told her this was not from the right time. "Hello," she breathed, delight evident in her voice.

He moved his eyes towards her. "Hello," he repeated, a slight smile on his lips. He crossed to her side and they both looked up again at the portrait.

"I thought all Malfoys had blonde hair and grey eyes. It is very odd to see a Malfoy male looking like that!" she smirked at him, watching his expression. It was quite immovable.

"My colouring comes from my mother. Although there are ... similarities ... between me and ... him." He indicated the portrait again, the edge to his voice clear.

"What was he like?" she asked gently, unsure if she would get a response.

"Cold. Demanding. Unfeeling. Power hungry. Values he instilled so _well_ in his son." His voice was cold and empty. Hermione wished she had not asked it, but was fascinated at what she was hearing.

Lucius turned from her and walked back into the other room, sitting on the sofa, staring blankly ahead. Hermione followed and sat down beside him. She whispered softly, "It's alright. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

He turned and looked her straight in the eyes. "Do you want to know why I joined Voldemort? Why I became a Death Eater? The answer is simple. Look in any muggle book on psychology and you will find it.

"My father taught me that power was everything. Purebloods must rule the world. He was so forceful, such a magnificent orator. A magnetic personality. He threw lavish parties, full of the cream of wizarding society. I never doubted our superiority, never had any reason to. Why should I doubt my father's word? People adored him, respected him, wanted to be with him, told me what an amazing man he was and how lucky I was to be a _Malfoy_." His words came freely now. Hermione listened as he unravelled his past before her.

"But when the parties ended and the people went home, we were left, just the two of us. No-one saw him then. He would corner me, confront me. Ask me why I had spoken to so-and-so: _didn't I realise they were only here on sufferance and were not of the purest wizarding stock?_ Pick me up on my manners, my attire – _why were my robes crushed at the bottom, had I been condescending enough to the Minister?_ I never quite got it right, only a little step out of line here and there, but that was enough. The wand would come out and the curses would fly. I suffered my first Cruciatus curse at my father's hand at the age of six. In those days the regulation of illegal magic was not so careful. No-one ever detected it, or if they did, chose to ignore it due to who it was."

Hermione listened with horror. She reached out her hand to touch his, but he seemed not to notice.

"Going to Hogwarts was heaven. I could escape at last. But still I believed in him, convinced that the problem lay with me. How could I not? Everyone kept telling me how wonderful my father was. I absorbed his principles, his beliefs, absorbed them into the gaping wounds he inflicted on my wretched soul. I hid myself in my academic work and excelled. I was the brightest student of my generation." He turned to her. "An epithet familiar to you, I believe? ... But it was still not enough for him. _'What good are brains if they achieve nothing? You must use them to rise up above all others!'_" he smirked at the remembered words, and was silent for a moment.

Hermione did not know whether to speak or not, but she recalled their previous conversation. "But you said you used to play with Muggles on the estate. Did your father not put a stop to that?"

"He didn't know. That was my escape, I suppose. Even when I knew Muggles were to be shunned at all costs, I still returned to those two. It was as if when I was with them, I was a different person, and needn't ascribe his principles to my life at that point."

"But you eventually stopped seeing them?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen." His voice was completely flat.

She stopped questioning him, sensing this was too painful a path to retread. But after a pause he continued.

"The boy was my age. The girl ... her name was Evie ... was one, maybe two years older than me. When we were children, it hadn't mattered, we would all play together in the woods, making camps, digging, climbing trees. But then when I went to Hogwarts I noticed my body changing, sooner than the other boys, and I saw how she had changed too. The way her hips curved up into her narrow waist. The way her breasts rose and fell when she had been running, her cheeks and lips flushed.

"She started to treat me differently too. She would tease me. One minute speaking as sweetly as an angel, the next insulting me and hiding from me, tormenting my soul. Then one day, she caught me unawares, leapt out from behind a tree when I was walking in the woods. She grabbed me and kissed me, long and hard, her tongue sending feelings through me I didn't know I had. Then just as quickly she was off, leaving me burning, burning inside. It continued like this for many months, when I was there, in the holidays. I thought I was in love, though I doubt now that I was.

"Then at the end of my Third Year, I came home for the summer. My father was away. I was looking after myself, as I often had to do. Those times were a relief and a pleasure. I couldn't wait to see her. She seemed equally pleased to see me. We would kiss for hours, and feel each other's bodies, not sure what we wanted or needed, but aware of something desperate.

"One day we could bear it no more. I brought her up to the Manor, into my room. I undressed her slowly, enjoying each moment as her flesh was revealed to me. She did the same to me, a look of sheer wonder on her face as she looked at me. She said she had never seen anything so beautiful. I wept as she ran her hands over me. Such longing had I never felt, but such tenderness too. We made love, the first time for us both, crying out with the pain, the pleasure, the surprise. Afterwards we lay in each other's arms, not talking ... just being.

"We slept, I don't know how long ... hours ... entwined in each other's naked limbs.

"But then ... a deafening noise. I awoke to the door being beaten down. My father stood in the doorway. He was shaking with rage and fury. He recognised her, knew who she was, _what_ she was. He withdrew his wand.

"She was screaming, screaming so desperately, I couldn't bear it. I begged him, pleaded. He crucioed me time and time again. She was still screaming, unceasingly. He ordered me out of the room. I refused and the pain hit me again and again. He said to get out or he would kill me. I stared into his eyes. I have never seen such anger, rage . . . _disappointment_ . . . never before and never since.

"I left the room and he shut the door. As I turned, like the coward I was, and hid down the corridor, I heard his words ... _Avada Kedavra_.

"They found her body the next day in a stream not far from the nearest village. The story in the local papers said she had drowned; a tragic accident."

Hermione and Lucius sat, both numb. Her hand was still on his, although she had forgotten. She looked at him, hardly able to focus due to the shock of what he had just told her. She was overwhelmed by the horror of his words but equally deeply humbled that he had chosen to tell her now, so freely. She doubted anyone else knew, perhaps not even his wife.

Hermione tried hard to concentrate for his sake, and explored his face with her eyes. He seemed distant, almost apart from her, and she surmised that he may want some time alone, as much as it pained her to leave him. She lowered her hands to the sofa and started to push herself up.

His hand immediately shot out, grabbing her wrist desperately, preventing her from moving. He turned to look at her, and spoke, the intensity of his gaze dazzling her. "Don't leave me."

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**Let me know what you think - would love it if you did.**

**The stage is finally set ...**

**Patience is about to be rewarded ...**

**x**


	16. Sixteen: Fulfilment

**Here you are!**

**Thanks, as ever, for the lovely reviews.**

**So - beware - lust and passion ahead ...**

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Sixteen - Fulfilment

They sat together for hours. Lucius had taken her in his arms and enveloped her into him. She lay against him, listening to his heart beating steadily against her ear. Her head initially swam with the things he had told her. So much. His father using Unforgivable curses on his own son. Lucius' frank explanation of his sexual awakening. His confession of his father's murder of Evie. Her overwhelming feeling was that of horror and utter sadness. The brutality he had lived with went a long way to explaining what had formed him ... and witnessing his father commit murder . . . it was too horrific to contemplate.

Unwittingly, Hermione's mind turned to his description of his kisses and caresses with the girl. Even now, so many years later and knowing what had then happened, Hermione felt a pang of jealousy. She didn't want to share him with anyone, not now nor in the past. Apart from her brief concern over the clothes, which she concluded had been magicked just for her, she had successfully managed not to think even of Narcissa while at the Manor. Obviously he had a history. Merlin, what was she saying? He had a son and wife! And his obvious skill as a lover could not have happened by chance. Still, it pained her acutely to think of him with other women, and as she lay in his arms now, she tried her hardest to tell herself that _she_ was here now, with him. He needed _her_. He wanted _her_. God, she needed and wanted _him_.

She sighed at her petulant, possessive thoughts, but could not deny them. At length, tiredness eventually overcame her and, breathing in his scent, she allowed sleep to claim her, his slowed breathing telling her that it had already taken hold of him.

She awoke to the low evening sun soothing the room. She looked up into his face. He seemed to be still asleep, his face calm and serene in the lush amber glow. She hoped the anguish he had expressed earlier had been soothed away by his sleep.

She stretched, aware that her limbs ached from being curled against him for so long. She stood and moved to the window, looking out at the gardens beyond. The water of the fountains shimmered in the light and a peacock strutted across the lawn. The beauty of it made her soul swell. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the perfumed evening air to further satisfy her senses.

Silence hung around her. Her senses seemed heightened in the concentrated atmosphere. The emotional intensity of his revelations remained, but the immediate horror had passed and it manifested itself now as a quiver of sensation in her soul. This, combined with the sights around her and the smells of the thick evening air of summer, made her swoon with feeling. She was _alive_.

Her breathing became rapid and shallow, and an ache formed deep inside, that familiar ache, originating in the very centre of her soul.

She swayed slightly and her head fell back, a small gasp pulling the scented air into her.

And then, when the burn inside threatened to engulf her, she became aware of a presence behind her. That aroma, his aroma, mixed with the heady smell of the summer dusk. Her breathing quickened and her belly was wrenched with desire. She did not move, but it was as if her skin itself was lifting off and reaching out to him, willing him closer.

Her wait was over.

His hands came up behind her, touching the backs of hers with his palms and running them slowly, sensuously up her arms. She shivered involuntarily and he blew a breath onto her hair. Her head fell further back onto his shoulder and her mouth opened, needing air that her lungs seemed to be denying her.

His head dipped and she felt his warm, firm lips on her shoulder where it joined her neck. His mouth travelled liquidly up, up her neck, kissing, nuzzling, nipping as it went. She reached her hand up and back, clasping his hair and pulling him down into her, desperate for him to savour as much flesh as he could. He groaned into her neck, the vibrations sending an exquisite wave through her body. Within the moans she could just distinguish his voice, low and urgent against her skin, "Need you ... _need you, now_ ..."

His right hand came round to her belly, finding its way under her top. His fingers seared her flesh and she jerked towards him. The tactile fingertips rubbed, caressed ever upwards until they once more reached her heaving breasts. She arched her back, willing his hands to touch, rub, pinch her once again, just as he had the day before. He pulled her bra down, so that her breasts jutted up in an exquisite manner, sandwiched between the bra and her top, which he rolled up above them.

His hands now found one breast each, while his hot mouth continued its assault on her neck. Her breathing came in gasping pants and her body arched towards his hands, willing them into her flesh. He complied, gently at first, rubbing his palms over her nipples, drawing them out into hardened points of sensitivity. His finger tips then maintained the delirious friction, flicking, circling. All the while, his mouth continued its exploration of her throat, ending at her collarbone. A moan escaped her and she pulled her fingers in tightly on his hair. The strands were pulled tight.

He hissed out a breath and with that his fingers closed hard on her nipples and tugged. It was rough, and Hermione emitted a guttural cry, partially in surprise, but also from the agonising delight which shot through her veins straight to her core. He proceeded to pinch, rub and twist her points until unending moans were pulled from her throat. Never had she imagined such pleasure could be derived from such exquisite pain. She turned her head towards his mouth and he silenced her with it, his lips tearing into her, forcing hers apart to allow his tongue to dive into her hot, wet sweetness. Their tongues met and mercilessly assaulted each other. She wanted to disappear into him, thought she could, his mouth and his hands her universe.

Then his hands dropped from her breasts to her waist and he spun her round to face him. He grasped her head in his hands and attacked her mouth with renewed vigour. She responded in kind. He reached down to remove her cardigan and lift her top over her head. Then reaching behind her he swiftly unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the ground between them. He groaned as she stood before him, her top fully exposed for the first time. She was desperate to feel him and tore at his shirt urgently. Several buttons sprang off and she groaned in frustration as she fumbled to undo the others. She was at last able to pull the shirt down off his broad shoulders and she had his bare torso in front of her. They both paused briefly, their breathing heavy and rapid.

She reached out her hands and placed them on his smooth, sculpted chest, a deep sigh of longing and delight sounding from her. It was exactly how she had imagined, only even more beautiful. She languorously ran her hands up his muscles, delighting in the firm resistance she felt under her fingers, just as she had that first day in Flourish and Blotts. She mimicked his attention to her breasts, reaching down and licking towards his nipples. She took one in her mouth, her tongue flicking over it, then sucking it as hard as she could into her. He let out a sharp hiss. She merely smiled up at him and moved to the other, repeating the process, only adding her teeth at the end. This was too much for him.

"Fuck, witch, _no more_..." he hissed, grabbing her head and pulling her up once more to look at him. That word, so foreign coming from him, but now so intoxicating, so vital. It fuelled her desire yet more. Their eyes locked, the fire of unbridled lust burning strongly. He suddenly reached under her and carried her forcefully over to a heavy oak desk. It was covered in papers and books, but he set her down roughly, scattering them. His hands quickly swept the remaining objects onto the ground, the noise the only sound discernible besides their heavy breathing and Hermione's frequent moans. His mouth found her body again and burned a trail of fire over her belly, down, down towards her sodden centre.

It was now her turn to express her need. Her tender bud ached for contact and she let out a sob as she raised her hips up towards him, pleadingly. She expressed her feelings explicitly but wordlessly.

He stood back from her and she bucked in protest, thrashing her head, her insides molten with lust and anticipation.

He gazed at her, a look of complete desire on his face. There was no denying his longing for her, but his desperate emotional need of earlier had passed and Hermione saw the familiar Malfoy expression return, as he looked down at her with satisfied arrogance. Only now it simply further inflamed her and she could do nothing but groan with uncontrollable passion. He spoke, the haughty drawl returning and driving her wild.

"Tell me what you want, witch. Tell me what you want me to do to your exquisite body. _Beg me, witch ... I want to hear the words."_

Her insides jolted, his voice sending her desire over the edge. She didn't think she could form words, but heard herself saying from somewhere deep inside her being, "Please ... my God ... I want you to fuck me ... _fuck me so hard_ ... _now ..._ God ... please ... I'm going to die ... Lucius ... _please_ ..."

He smiled a self-satisfied smile, lust sparking his eyes and lowered himself towards her, breathing into her ear. "As I said before, patience will be rewarded."

She arched her back towards him, as his fingers found the buttons of her jeans. He slowly unbuttoned each one as Hermione moaned above him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling it roughly. He didn't mind, only hissed a long breath out. He tugged her jeans down, revealing her lacy pants. A deep groan betrayed his arousal and once again she jerked towards him.

The nub at her centre was on fire, it was crying out for attention, her pants soaked with her juices already. His mouth once again trailed down her belly, this time mirrored by his fingers which pulled her pants down her legs and off. Her legs fell open and she heard a low moan as her sex was revealed to him. His tongue was so close now, each touch placing a burning mark on her. She ached for it. He trailed further down and at last, _at last_ she felt him at her sweetest place. He licked leisurely up her folds, parting them slightly with his fingers. She thrust towards him violently, a cry escaping her lips. With this, he grabbed her hips brutally, pinning them down forcefully with his strong hands before reapplying his attentions.

His tongue teased ever upwards, in long languid strokes, ever closer to the tender bud she so longed him to reach. He was there, but circling it, so close. She whimpered with pleasure and despair that it was no closer. She felt a long, questing finger slip inside her, and she pushed down to meet it. It was quickly joined by a second, stroking, searching towards her very centre. His tongue continued in dizzying circles round her clit, the occasional lick so tantalisingly close she could bear it no longer. She twisted his hair in her hands forcing his head deeper into her. He groaned against her, the vibrations sending another wave of exquisite pleasure shooting to her depths, but still he managed to hold her teetering on the brink.

She threw her head to the side, muttering feverishly, "Now, Lucius ... _fuck ._.. now... please make me come ... _NOW!"_ She relaxed her fingers in his hair, hoping he would comply, but it merely allowed him to move away from her again, drawing his fingers out too, a deliciously conceited smirk on his face.

She feared for a moment he might stop altogether and a sob was wrenched from her throat. But she needn't have worried. She raised her head enough to look at him. His hand was finally at his belt and button, his elegant fingers swiftly undoing the clasps. She could see the straining within his trousers but at last his clothes fell to the floor and he was revealed to her.

Hermione could not suppress a gasp of longing and shock. He was considerably more well-endowed than she could have imagined. He stood erect and glowing in the evening light. She had always wondered why people were fascinated by such an odd-looking thing as the male phallus, but looking at him now, so magnificently large, smooth and rigid in front of her, she knew it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Immediately, she needed it as deep inside her as possible, wanted it buried in her to the hilt, pounding her. She lay back down, arching her back, willing him to enter her, the deepest moan filling the room.

This was the end for Lucius. He had waited so long, denying her, denying himself, and now, gazing down on this exquisite creature laid out before him, her heaving breasts rising up into the cool night air, her face a haze of uncontrollable lust, her hips searching him out, his hunger finally broke and he knew she was his at last. With one last sweeping look over her body and face, he positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing slightly towards her clit.

He paused. She turned her head and met his eyes. He thrust, filling her to the hilt in one.

A low, unearthly cry was ripped from his throat, but he held her gaze. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open in silent awe. At last they were connected, mind, soul and body.

They remained like that for a while, not consciously moving, but she could feel each throb of his engorged cock inside her, so perfect was their fit. She was complete.

Then, when neither could bear it any longer, the lust in his eyes seemed to reignite his mind and he moved out of her, only to thrust back in almost immediately. Hermione moaned at the force of it, as he jolted her up the desk. He repeated it, sliding almost out, then roughly back in. She reached around his back, clasping him to her as hard as she could, her nails digging deep into his smooth, toned flesh, causing him to moan in delicious agony. Her insides gripped him like a vice, sending such pleasure shooting through both of them, that they neither knew where one ended nor where the other started.

His pace quickened and her insides were melting away, she was so close. Her whole being was centred on his iron cock and the feelings it elicited in her. His face was a picture of exquisite bliss as he thrust harder and faster and deeper than before. Holding her gaze once more, he groaned out, just able to form words, "I want to hear you, witch. I want to hear you scream as you come around me, as I come inside you, filling you ... _scream my name, witch, now!"_

He reached down and at that moment found her swollen clit with his thumb, rubbing it hard as he thrust one final time. Her innermost depths clenched, the feeling radiating out, all her body tightly wound before the precipice, that final exquisite moment before the cataclysmic drop. Then Hermione fell, tumbled over the edge as her body melted around him, over and over, her limbs jerking uncontrollably into the most shattering orgasm she had ever had. Her world blinded. As her pleasure reached its highest peak, her mouth opened and his name was ripped from her lips, the affirmation of her very existence, "_LUCIUS!"_

Her scream of his name and the perfect sensation of her walls pulsing around him sent him too over the edge. His head fell back, eyes closed, mouth slack, and he came in several long, gasping spasms, shooting his seed deep into her, his own cry of utter fulfilment colliding with hers in the heavy air.

He collapsed onto her, breathing heavily. She tried to lift her legs to bring them round him, but found they were useless, as if her bones had turned to jelly. She managed to drop an arm across his back, slick with sweat, and held it there, held him there, as if afraid he would vanish. They stayed like that for as long as they could, living in each other's breathing, in each other's skin. She could still feel him firm inside her and marvelled at his size and endurance.

Eventually, his arms reached under her back and he pulled her up to a sitting position in front of him, still buried inside her. Their eyes locked again, no words were spoken. He inclined his head gently towards her and kissed her lips, so tenderly, parting them softly and slipping his tongue in to taste around her mouth. It was so delicious after their brutal coupling that her eyes pricked and she felt tears running freely down her cheeks. He moved away from her mouth to lick and kiss her tears away. He finally slipped out of her and a groan of loss escaped her. He took her head in his hands, wiping the last of her tears away and smoothing her hair from her face.

Then reaching down and picking up his wand, he apparated them both to bed.

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**And that's far from the end of it ...**

**Review if you wish. I would appreciate it greatly. ;) xxxx**

**x**


	17. Seventeen: Continuing

**So ... where now? Don't worry, there's plenty more to come ....**

**I haven't forgotten about Ron, Draco and all the other responsibilities in their lives, (more on them later, believe me) but at the moment, Hermione and Lucius can think of little but each other ... Oh, what a tangled web we weave ...**

**This is a significant chapter ... starts off where we left off, but then there's some interesting pillow talk ...**

**I hope I've been able to balance the plot/narrative/description with the smut (I hate that word). I know different people will react in different ways - it's tricky. But, at the moment, their relationship is largely founded on their extraordinary physical need for each other, and therefore, I think it needs to be pretty vivid.**

**Sorry to ramble on, hope it makes sense ... Enjoy! X**

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Seventeen - Continuing

Hermione and Lucius lay on the vast bed for what seemed like hours just looking at each other. Hermione was vaguely aware that they were in the same room in which she had spent the previous night. They spoke not a word and hardly touched. The intensity of their coupling and the fulfilment they had both at last reached had left them in a state of such contentment and completion that they neither needed nor wanted to break the feelings between them.

At length the silence was disturbed by a loud rumbling from Hermione's stomach. She let a giggle escape her lips and Lucius in turn smiled slyly towards her. She was utterly charming. It was dark outside now and must have been late evening, although they had lost track of time. Lucius vaguely recalled that neither had eaten lunch. He turned reluctantly away from her and reached onto the bedside table for his wand. Muttering something he returned it and moved back to her.

"What would you like to eat?" His voice sounded strange in a room which had been silent for so long.

Hermione inhaled deeply and slowly rolled onto her back. The silk sheets were cool on her skin and she stretched up, aware of each muscle in her body, and recalling the sensations it had experienced earlier. "Ooh ... I don't mind ... just a sandwich or something ... although I do have some ideas for dessert ..." She turned to him and cocked an eyebrow.

He in turn raised an eyebrow at her, teasingly unimpressed. She giggled with embarrassment and frivolity at her silly little attempt at innuendo. Still, it did not deter him and he reached a large warm hand over and placed it on her belly, stroking languidly up. Her eyes closed and her head fell back, an almost immediate gush of wetness leaking from between her legs.

Just then there was a knock at the door. Lucius, not taking his eyes from her body drawled deeply, "Come."

The door opened and Tibby stood there. Hermione quickly snapped to. She blushed crimson with embarrassment and pulled the sheets rapidly up over her. If she felt it, Tibby betrayed no surprise or even acknowledgement at finding the Muggle-born witch naked in bed next to her equally naked master. Lucius made no attempt to hide his body and looking vaguely in Tibby's direction, curtly, but politely enough, ordered sandwiches and refreshments to be sent up to the room. Tibby nodded, magically lit the fire in the hearth, and left, closing the door behind her.

Lucius turned his attention languorously back to Hermione. "Now ... where were we?"

His voice was as effective as his hands, which started their tactile progress up her burning flesh again. Hermione distractedly pushed the sheets down as far as she could, ensuring as much of her was exposed to him as possible. He cupped her breast in his hand, tenderly this time, feeling the weight in his hand and stroking his thumb idly over her nipple. She hissed out at this, arching her back towards him. He lowered his mouth, his tongue flicking over her tender point, no more. She ached for him to grasp it between his lips and teeth, but he was infinitely gentle this time, and her longing for him only intensified.

She reached her hand down and felt him, rock hard and urgent against her fingertips. He let out a sharp breath as her fingers curled around the smooth head, stroking it as delicately as he had tantalised her breast. He brought his head to her mouth, not able to conceal his passion any more, and forced his mouth down hard on hers, his tongue breaking in and plundering her warm velvety wetness. She moaned into him, eliciting a deepening of the kiss. Then suddenly he parted her legs roughly with his knee, grabbed her hips and rolled her forcibly over onto him. She found herself being held tantalisingly balanced just over his tip. A jolt of electricity coursed through her and she threw her head back, a deep laugh of delighted pleasure pouring out of her.

He looked up at her, a look of utter desire and wonder in his eyes. Hermione felt triumphant in the obvious sway she held over him. She would let him dictate things for now, but knew that before long, she could do things on her terms. But at the moment, she allowed him the reins and revelled in the mutual lust this fuelled so fervently. He sensed her acquiescence and spoke one word, his voice alone almost sending her over the edge. "Down."

Agonisingly slowly, but guided by his hands, she lowered herself inch by delicious inch onto him. As she moved down, she felt her flaming walls stretch to accommodate his girth. Her head fell back and she moaned, a sound of unbridled passion. He slid her all the way down to his hilt, and they stayed like that briefly, enjoying the feeling of fullness and envelopment it brought. Then he raised her up once more, until his tip was very nearly out of her. Then slowly, so slowly down once again, a long slow hiss escaping his lips as her tight passage squeezed him on the descent. Hermione could hardly bear it, she ached for more friction, faster, deeper, but he denied her, holding her hips firmly in his hands and controlling the pace.

Her hands reached up, finding her own breasts and pinching her nipples between thumb and forefinger. His eyes widened at the sight and she felt him pulsing inside her, growing ever bigger. His pace finally quickened and he allowed her to raise herself up and down at last, relaxing his grip on her hips. She plunged down hard onto him, a cry escaping her as he hit her cervix forcefully. She had never felt anything so deep.

Her insides were on fire and, as she continued to ride him increasingly urgently, she felt herself teetering on the brink. She glanced down at him. His eyes were intent on her, but his mouth was open in an expression of pure delirium. He acknowledged her closeness and at that moment reached down and found her clit with his fingers, stroking it hard. That was enough. She thrust herself down onto him and her insides turned to molten liquid. Her orgasm took her, a flash of light burning behind her eyelids, her walls clenching down violently around him. With this he came explosively, spurting once, twice, again up into her, raising his hips off the bed to be as deep into her as possible. A primeval groan of ecstasy filled the room as his head was thrown back in agonising wave upon wave of pleasure.

After they had both come down, she leant over him, panting heavily, gazing once more into his eyes, which were more alive than she had ever seen. Almost immediately there was a knock at the door. She was so delirious from her passion that she almost didn't care if she was seen naked astride him or not, but it was Lucius this time who gently nudged her off him to the side, pulling the sheets over them both, before calling, "Enter."

Again, her sense of loss when he slipped out of her was profound. She fell to the side of the bed, but as her mind cleared, was relieved that Tibby had not seen them in that state.

The elf set down a tray laden with beautifully cut sandwiches, salad, a baguette, a carefully arranged plate of seafood, including lobster and crab, strawberries and a bottle of champagne. Hermione gasped in amazement. "This is rather different from the sort of late-night snack I'm used to. Thank you, Tibby."

The house-elf smiled with satisfaction, and glanced at Lucius for approval. Hermione did not think he was going to acknowledge the elf, but he suddenly spoke, quite genuinely, "You have done well, Tibby. That will be all for this evening. You may retire." Smiling even more broadly, the elf bowed and backed out of the room, silently closing the door behind her.

She turned to him and said, "You see what a little kindness gets you?"

He turned and looked at her wryly, repeating with a smirk, "You see what a little kindness gets _you_."

She raised herself up slightly and looked at him intently. "Is that what I have given you, Lucius? Is that what you want - kindness?"

He spoke almost tersely now, "I think we know it's rather more complicated than that."

"Oh yes ..." she turned to look out into the room, recalling the confusion of her mind. "It is most certainly more complicated than that ..."

There was silence for a moment, although not an awkward one as may well have been after their brief dialogue. Both simply acknowledged the truth of what had been said.

Then Hermione inhaled deeply and sat up. Turning to look at him, she said brightly, "Come on then! I'm starving." And throwing her pillow playfully onto his head, she leapt out of the bed and knelt beside the table with the tray of food.

He smiled down at her briefly, his eyes glowing in the firelight, then got out of bed to join her.

They ate in silence for a while, assuaging the hunger which had suddenly caught up with them. She noticed he watched her intently as she ate, her mouth a source of fascination for him. She had seen it before. She lowered her eyes and smiled, a flush of embarrassment darkening her cheeks. He smiled slightly and narrowed his eyes. Her expressive face utterly beguiled him; he had never known anything like it.

After they had eaten they returned to the bed – could they ever leave it again? - and she lay in his arms, staring up at the canopy. He idly stroked her arm, his fingers setting alight each nerve ending.

Then she asked, surprising herself slightly, "Why me?" She wasn't sure if she addressed it to him or to herself and was almost not expecting a response.

His hand stopped stroking briefly, then resumed its languid progress up and down.

"You are exquisite."

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his words. They moved her profoundly but she didn't recognise the description as of herself. "I can't understand it. A man like you ... especially now it's all over ... you could have any woman you wanted. Have you forgotten what I am?"

"What are you?" he asked with a tone of inquiry.

She raised herself up on her elbows to look at him, took a deep breath, but had to say it to try to judge his reaction. "A filthy little mudblood."

He merely smiled ruefully and cast his eyes over her face, his hand coming up to stroke away her stray hairs. He said nothing.

She grew slightly frustrated by his uncommunicativeness and lay back down. He detected her brief hostility and sighed deeply. After several more minutes, where he continued to stroke her gently, he spoke, his mellifluous voice like honey to her, but lacking any of its usual sardonic drawl.

"You represent ... perfection. You represent something I never thought I could have. You are joy, passion, happiness ... you are life."

Her eyes pricked and as she blinked a tear slowly fell down her cheek. He continued.

"I acknowledge I spoiled my son abhorrently, and directly laid his path to near destruction, but I desperately wanted to avoid what my own father had done to me: beat me down, destroy my soul, prevent me from pursuing my interests, channel me exclusively his way. But strangely enough, I succeeded in doing just that. Because I indulged him he had no reason to rebel against me and accepted my ways entirely.

"The only thing I ever pushed with Draco was his academic work. That was the one aspect of my life I was truly proud of; I was a brilliant student and I wanted Draco to experience that. I knew if he succeeded academically it would open even more doors for him. But whenever I questioned him about it, there was always one name that kept cropping up to ruin my little dream: _Miss Hermione Granger. _Not only were you easily the most outstanding witch or wizard of your day, but apparently you were also charming, popular, beautiful."

"Who told you those things?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Draco, naturally."

"What?" she spluttered.

"Don't sound so surprised. You were a frequent topic of conversation around the dinner table, my dear, believe me. Your name came up far more even than Potter."

"But ... Draco ... he hated me. He was horrible, from the start, Lucius. He was _horrible_ to me."

"He was jealous of you and that is how he dealt with it. I had given him everything he wanted materially, but as I had nothing to provide emotionally, I had not taught him how to handle feelings. That, coupled with his pureblood indoctrination, which I take all responsibility for, made him react in the only way he knew how. I suspect he even had a small crush on you at some point, although it did fade as I and the Dark Lord continued to influence his mind." He paused, before continuing. "We always want most that which we cannot have."

Hermione found it very hard to believe that Draco had ever felt anything except cold animosity and hatred towards her, let alone describe her to his family in ways that she did not recognise herself.

"To me you represented everything I suppose I really wanted Draco to be, and the fact that it was you, a Muggle-born witch, only highlighted my failings as a father and a human being. I hated you for it and further inflamed Draco to feel the same. Any sneaking respect, attraction, he felt for you vanished a few years after you started at Hogwarts. And to me ... after the war ... when I lost everything I had believed in ... my dignity, my pride, many of my possessions ... my wife ... and saw what you and your friends had achieved, had saved me from ... I found myself almost instinctively questioning those opinions which I had simply accepted as truth. I had never had the reason or the courage to doubt them until then.

"But after all that, I had nothing left to lose. I could risk exposing the barren, emaciated soul within. But how ... ? How could I finally confront those demons, buried so long ago, with my childhood, my friends ... with Evie ... ?

"And then, one day, there you were, falling into my lap, quite literally. You stumbled against me in the bookshop, do you remember?"

Hermione closed her eyes and smiled softly. Did he really not realise how that day had affected her? But she simply said, "Yes."

"You clung to my robes. You seemed to be feeling slightly ... distressed ... for reasons I can understand. And then you looked up at me, your eyes so intense, but so fearful. _Did I inspire that in you?_ I felt empowered as I had before, but it also ... _scared_ me. Strangely though, it was as if an immense weight was lifted from my whole being. You had given me the strength to _feel_. I knew then you were the answer, the key. I needed you from that moment, to ..." his voice trailed off.

Hermione lay motionless, disbelievingly. She had no idea he would even remember their first meeting like that. She had felt little but terror at the time, although later realised that the moment had also been the start of her extreme feelings, physical and otherwise towards him. She didn't know how to react, but eventually spoke.

"But ... you were so cold towards me that day. You terrified me."

"Old habits die hard. I was vulnerable. I couldn't betray the turmoil inside me, so I reacted in the only way I knew how. Instilling fear. But ... oh ... you were so ..." he inhaled deeply.

He had left several thoughts hanging in the air, leaving unanswered questions. Hermione was desperate to discover them, but didn't want to press him. She turned to their next encounter, one which had tormented her soul and body.

"That time at the opera. Why didn't you ... ?"

"Take you then?" he finished her sentence abruptly.

"Yes," she blushed slightly.

"I wanted to. I thought I would die if I couldn't bury myself in you. It was unbearable. I was burning with need and longing. But ... you had revealed so much in me already ... it was too soon. You sat there, so trusting of me ... and I felt I didn't deserve you. Something I was not used to; a bizarre feeling, but it made me curious. It made feel like I wanted to _earn_ you. And my feelings were overwhelming ... So many different voices in my head ... And you before me, so compliant ... beautiful, exquisite perfection ... after all you'd gone through, due often to me ... you _terrified_ me. I had to push you away ... and succeeded, I know."

There was silence as Hermione took in his words. His baring of his soul humbled her. Then he spoke once again. "For that I am sorry."

She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "Don't apologise for that."

He looked down at her, a resigned expression on his face.

"I cannot apologise for anything else at this point. There is still a long way to go, wherever I'm going, and I am not sure where that is yet."

She was silent for a while, allowing his words to sink into her mind. But more questions niggled and she once again spoke, still gentle, "Our first meeting in the office. I angered you."

"Yes."

"I wasn't scared. I should have been."

He smiled slightly. "You opened memories buried so deep, for so long, so easily. I was amazed at how readily I had told you things I never thought I would disclose to anyone, not even my wife. Your audacity, your fervour to understand me, it excited me and ignited my fury equally, never had anyone approached me in that way before. I could not control the surge inside. And you, looking at me, an extraordinary mixture of defiance and total abandonment – you were utterly sublime. I could have killed you with a quick twist of my hand, and we both know five years ago I may well have done so, but you lay under me and you gave yourself to me completely . . . I have never known such beauty.

"It was then I knew you had released me, stripped my mask away finally. I knew then I would give you ... only you ..." he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

She looked up, humbled and awed. She could not recognise herself in his words, but gazed at him with tears streaming down her face.

His eyes met hers and he spoke, gently but directly. "I will disappoint you. Do not expect too much."

His words unnerved her slightly, but she accepted them. She reached up and kissed him tenderly on the mouth, looking deep into his eyes as she had done so often, reading everything and nothing in them.

With that, she rested her head on his chest, her eyes falling across the room to the swan, encircled in red roses. Lucius draped his arm around her, Their eyes eventually closed and sleep overtook them both.

As the hours of darkness stretched on, they woke several times and turned to each other, almost unaware, driven by their mutual need and longing, their bodies joined almost perpetually and their cries of ecstasy breaking the silence of the night.

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**Let me know what you think, as you have so kindly been doing. Lots to think about here ...**

**More tomorrow ...**

**x**


	18. Eighteen: Bereft

**So - special treat - another update today!! I wasn't going to, but updated the previous chapter early today, and won't be able to do another one until late tomorrow GMT, so I couldn't resist!**

**The weight of responsibility is finally starting to press down on Hermione, but how will she respond ...?**

**Thank you so much for the reviews regarding the last chapter already - so, so appreciated.**

**Note - this is the second update of the day - don't miss Chapter 17!**

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Eighteen - Bereft

Hermione awoke the next morning to bright sunlight shining through half-open curtains. She stretched leisurely and turned over. The side of the bed next to her was empty and she felt a crushing disappointment and ache of longing take hold of her.

But in the sudden cold light of day, reality crashed down upon her. She sat up quickly, desperately trying to clear her mind. She had a job, a home, friends ... Ron.

Oh God, Ron. How the hell was she going to deal with this?

Her innate sense of responsibility kicked in. What day was it? She had to work it out, time had stopped since being here, but there had been two nights, so ... Friday. She knew she would have to return, she couldn't hide away forever.

Acting almost on auto-pilot, the only way she could suppress the deep ache in her heart, she hurried to the bathroom, had a quick shower and got dressed.

She wondered where Lucius was, thinking over all he had said last night. She hoped all was well. His revelations had humbled and overwhelmed her. She could not take it all on board, but knew one thing. She could not leave him. Despite her awareness of the need to return to her job and flat, she knew they needed each other more than ever.

Once again her lack of concern for Ron worried her more than the guilt of her infidelity. She simply had no desire to think about him at all. But she owed him something. At some point she would have to sort out where he, and her feelings for him, stood in all this.

But not now. For now, she would lie and deceive and cheat.

She felt a pang in her soul at her clinical decision to do this. Was this her? What was this man doing to her? Memories of last night came back to her and provided her with abundant answers.

She hurried downstairs, wanting to call his name, but intimidated by the large house and the ancient portraits staring ominously down at her. Thankfully, she went into the dining room and there he was, his back turned, eating breakfast. She smiled and breathed out in relief. She wanted to rush over and embrace and kiss him, but the surroundings and his attention to the mundane daily ritual of eating breakfast somehow prevented her from doing so. She was aware that he must have sat in this room sharing breakfast with Narcissa so many times before. She suddenly felt rather inadequate.

He became aware of her behind him and turned. He smiled gently at her and pulled a chair out next to him for her to sit on. She approached it and sat. Tibby immediately appeared at her side. "What would you like for breakfast, Miss?"

"Thank you, Tibby. Some scrambled eggs on toast would be lovely, if that's alright."

Tibby bowed to her and quickly left the room. Lucius reached over for a jug and poured her some orange juice. "Thank you," she managed.

He glanced across at her intently. "I left you to sleep. I imagine you needed it." He smirked, causing a similar response from her.

"And you didn't?" she teased, relieved to engage in their flirtatious banter again.

"My dear, do not underestimate my stamina." His smirk grew and she grinned at his delicious arrogance, aware that years ago, his snide superiority had elicited fury from her.

She ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the dining table, it felt warm under her finger tips. "What a wonderful piece of furniture. These items must have been here for centuries."

"That piece came to the house only recently, actually. It comes from a distant aunt who passed away. I disposed of the other table shortly after the war. It had too many ... associations. Much of the furniture, carpets, wall hangings have been replaced. The house in many places is virtually unrecognisable to how it was before ..." his voice trailed off.

"Including ... that room ...?" she surprised herself with her boldness.

He glanced at her momentarily before continuing.

"That room especially. Although after stripping it, it was sealed with the deepest magic immediately. Nobody can enter. I'm not sure even I could open it now." He did not raise his eyes to her, but spoke sincerely. She was amazed and moved.

"But ... it was a large room with many beautiful things, surely it was terrible to destroy all that?" As the pain had hit her that night, she had tried to focus on details around her in an attempt to block out the agony. Uncertainty nudged her consciousness, but she held her nerves in check and continued. "Why did you do that?"

He did not speak for a long while but then slowly raised his head and looked at her. "There is still clearly much about me that you do not understand."

His words cut into her somewhat, but she could not deny the truth of it. There was nothing more to say, too much emotion hung in the air, and she sat quietly until Tibby returned with her food. She ate appreciatively, her body needing further replenishment after its rigorous activities of the previous hours. They sat in silence, but once again, despite the significance of the words which had just passed between them, there was no awkwardness. Sitting together at breakfast seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Eventually, she knew she would have to broach the subject they were both dreading.

She sat up and took a sip from her juice. "I'm going to have to go back."

He didn't respond.

She glanced at him. His head was down, buttering toast. She hesitated before continuing. "He will be wondering where I am. He may well get in touch with my parents and they'll obviously tell him I wasn't staying with them and then they'll worry. And I can't stay away from work forever."

Again, he said nothing. She couldn't read him and his silence started to disturb her. She waited, then pressed him. "Lucius ..."

He interrupted her swiftly. "I do not want you to go."

Silence. Then he continued, "But I acknowledge your duties and responsibilities."

They finished breakfast without a sound. If it had to be done, it was better to be done quickly. She placed her hands on the table to stand.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist so hard his fingers dug into her flesh, hurting her. She winced slightly, although resisted the urge to pull back. He did not relax his grip and stared deep into her eyes. "I shall come back to you. I shall come back to you soon. I will be thinking of you constantly ... _constantly_, Hermione."

His use of her given name for only the second time sent a bolt of emotion through her. She did not know how she could bear to be away from him for a moment. She wanted him in her head, in her body, deep inside her constantly. She ached with the emptiness she already felt. She became aware of a dull throb in her lower arm and looked down to see him still gripping her wrist, her skin around his fingers turning white with the blood loss. He suddenly stood up and reached behind her head, clasping her hair and pulling her swiftly in close to him. It hurt badly, but she didn't care and met him with equal ardour. He brought his lips harshly down to hers and she opened her mouth willingly to his onslaught.

They stood clasped together, desperately trying to remain as close together for as long as possible. When they finally broke apart, tears had soaked her face and her breath came in gasping sobs.

He held her head in his hands, leaning his forehead heavily onto hers. "Go now. You must go now before I find I can no longer release you. You must have the weekend or you may arouse suspicion. That would be inconvenient at the moment. I will come to the Ministry at 9 o'clock on Monday. Put it in your diary or Snipworth will make life difficult for you. Owl if there is anything amiss." He pulled her in for another long kiss and then broke away, turning swiftly away from her and hissing, "Go!"

She clasped her hand to her mouth, ran from the room and straight out of the house. She carried on running for fear she would stop and never continue away from there. She continued until she had left the gates, the gates that only two nights before had held such a different resonance for her.

Once outside them, she leant against a tree, trying desperately to control her sobs, reached clumsily for her wand and apparated herself back to the flat.

She arrived in her usual state of confusion and dizziness, but was able to quickly and with considerable relief ascertain that Ron was not there. She collapsed onto the sofa, so familiar to her, but now so alien and unwanted. She allowed the tears to flow freely once again, as much for the mess and confusion of her life as for her agony at leaving Lucius, although it was the emptiness without him inside her which caused the deepest pain.

She eventually went to the bathroom and splashed her face, reapplying a little makeup and then changing into some different clothes. She decided that she could not mope around the flat all day, so would go to the Ministry and get on with distracting paperwork. She glanced at the time and was amazed to see it was only a little after ten. She considered apparating to her office, but thought her body could probably not take too much more. The walk would do her good, so she set off at a rapid pace trying to arrive at a respectable time. They would still think she was ill, so her reappearance at the office would be a pleasant surprise, she thought hopefully.

As she walked in as ebulliently as possible, she was pleased to note the smiles in her direction. On entering her office she almost immediately heard footsteps behind her and turned to find Ormus at her door. "Hermione. Great to see you. Are you feeling better?" He seemed genuine in his enquiry.

"Yes, thank you, Ormus. Sorry I missed yesterday, bit of a buggy thing, but I seem to be on the mend now. Didn't want to rush this morning, but I think I'll be fine now. There's a lot I wanted to get on with." She hoped she sounded convincing and glanced up at him with a smile on her face, gauging his reaction.

"That's fine, that's fine," he replied, apparently taking her word for it. "I was a little concerned that your non-appearance yesterday was due to our little run-in concerning Malfoy, that's all."

"Malfoy? Good heavens, no. No, I'm sorry about that. You were quite right, I shall make sure all my appointments are obvious and well-planned from now on. But, honestly, I just had this funny thing yesterday. Too much lobster or something." She laughed, trying to sound ironic, but secretly pleased at her own private little joke. She felt a slight flush of twisted pride in her ability to lie so smoothly to him.

He left her office, satisfied with her explanations, and Hermione turned her attention to her paperwork. She was pleased to have the humdrum routine of the office to calm the swirling current of emotions which coursed through her, although she found her work hard to concentrate on. She could hardly eat lunch and hurried back to the Ministry to get on with things, desperate for time to pass as quickly as possible. As she entered her department again, she stopped to put the 9 o'clock appointment in her diary. God, there were two whole days left before she could see him again. The ache inside her deepened.

At just after 2 o'clock, Priscilla knocked on her door and Hermione called her in. She came in with a smile on her face. "This was just delivered by special falcon service. Looks like someone's in for a treat tonight!" She handed over a box and stepped back with a slight giggle. The box was small but exquisite, covered in a deep red velvet and tied with an enchanted red ribbon which swirled and twisted in the air. "I didn't know Ron was the romantic sort," Priscilla continued. "You've obviously got him well trained!" She giggled again and hung around, peering at Hermione's fingers, waiting for them to unwrap the box.

Hermione stopped and glanced up at the secretary. "Thank you, Priscilla ... Thank you," she said firmly, reiterating it as a dismissal.

Priscilla looked clearly annoyed, but turned and flounced out of the room, shutting the door a little too forcefully behind her.

Hermione turned her attention back to the box, her heart beating wildly. No, Ron would never do anything like this, certainly not after her behaviour the other night. She was certain this had come from another source altogether.

She carefully undid the ribbon, opened the lid and moved aside the tissue paper. Inside was a tiny but perfect gold and enamel swan, with diamonds encrusted on the eyes and wings. It was exquisite. She took it out and placed it in her hand, It immediately started moving around on her palm, ruffling out its wings, as if gliding along a pond. Hermione smiled in wonder and delight and placed it carefully on the desk in front of her where it continued its elegant swim on the smooth oak.

Glancing back at the box, she noted a small plain card. She took it out. Written on it, in an immaculate flowing hand, were the words, "Until Monday, L." She picked it up and breathed in deeply, shutting her eyes. There was his smell, his smell which dictated her world at the moment. Her insides twinged familiarly and she struggled to refocus on the world around her. The swan continued to swim around her desk, and after gazing at it for a while, she stowed it safely back in the box where it nestled down and was still. She placed the box and card in her bag, well away from prying eyes.

Her heart swelled with his gesture. She wanted to send him something as way of thanks and acknowledgement, but thought it best to resist for now.

Her mind started to ache at the thought of having to return to Ron, to lie to him, to live the lie over the weekend, while all the while wishing for someone else.

At half past five she could deny her responsibility no longer, and with an almost overwhelming feeling of dread, gathered her things and headed for her flat.

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**Oh dear - poor Hermione ... poor Ron (never thought I'd say that!!)...**

**Until tomorrow ...**

**R and R if you so desire ...**

**x**


	19. Nineteen: Development

**So, how will Hermione deal with her deceit?**

**Thank you once again for the kind, kind reviews ... X**

**Warning! As Lucius and Hermione's sexually and emotionally obssessive relationship develops, things are expressed increasingly graphically. If you are not keen ... you'd better skip the latter part of this chapter!**

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Nineteen - Development

As soon as she entered the flat she saw Ron sitting, his back turned, and her heart sank at the prospect of the deceit she was about to inflict. She set her bags down and took off her coat. He didn't turn around and she lamented his predictable petulance. She walked slowly round to stand in front of him. Eventually he looked up.

"How are your parents?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

"Fine. Thank you." Lie number one. She was surprised at how normal it felt. But she could tell the tension between them would not disperse easily, no matter what was said. Something had fundamentally changed in the dynamics between them, without even taking into account her infidelity. But somehow she intended for them to continue to coexist at the moment. She wasn't ready yet to ... What? Tell him she was sleeping with a former Death Eater? Tell him she had lost all respect for him? Split up?

The realisation of her feelings took her aback slightly and, without speaking, she turned and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

Hermione sat on the closed lid of the toilet, staring at the wall opposite. She felt utterly empty and did not know how she would muster the energy to pretend. After a while she got up and returned to the living room, He was in the same position, staring at the TV which they had bought a few months ago; a muggle luxury which Ron had taken to almost obsessively. There was a football match on. She sat down next to him. They were silent for a long while, till at last he spoke.

"Crap sport compared to Quidditch. What's the bloody point of kicking a ball randomly round a green rectangle?" He gesticulated at the TV. The tension eased somewhat. She knew she would have to speak.

"I just had to get away, Ron. Home comforts, I suppose. Seeing my parents at the opera the other night made me realise how much I miss them." Lie number two.

He sighed and turned to her. "I was bloody worried about you, ya know."

"Please don't worry about me," she almost pleaded with him. She couldn't bear being beholden to him. He merely took it as her indication that she had recovered from her emotional angst. He turned and looked at her.

"I'm glad you're back ... Sorry." It was mumbled, but sincere, and was her cue to respond in kind. She didn't. Hermione managed to smile weakly at him, then rose and went to the kitchen.

"Is there anything to eat?" she inquired as cheerily as she could.

"There's that soup from a couple of days ago." His voice had an edge of petulance, due she supposed from not getting an apology out of her, but at least they had moved on to everyday chat. She felt she could now focus on ensuring time passed as quickly as possible.

They went to bed with little conversation, said good night perfunctorily, turned away from each other and Ron went to sleep.

Hermione was almost sickened by his presence in the bed and shut her eyes tight, lying as close to the edge as possible, trying to pretend he wasn't there. Not only did she wish he was someone else, but now admitted to guilt creeping over her. Still, her mind focused on her tender centre, and the aching emptiness she felt there. She had tucked the little swan in its box under the bed, and reached down to feel its reassuring presence.

She remembered Lucius, iron-hard inside her, filling her so completely. Her longing for him caused her physical pain and she wept silent tears into the loneliness of the room. She had no idea a woman could feel this; this need to be physically possessed so utterly and constantly by someone. She felt a slight shame, as if she was letting the female side down, but knew she was only complete with him inside her. But the feeling of desolation was so profound that she had little inclination to reach between her legs to relieve the longing, as she had done in her flat so often recently, and she eventually fell asleep, her hollow core throbbing its reminder to her.

The next morning continued in much the same vein. Ron and Hermione barely spoke, but went about their lives with a familiar regularity which deceived Ron into thinking things were alright between them.

At 11 o'clock he said he had to go out to get some supplies for a course he was running. He quickly put on his robes and left, apparating to Diagon Alley, Hermione assumed. She found herself letting out a long sigh, as if a weight had been lifted, and slumped back on the sofa, happy not to have to pretend or lie for a while. The effort of maintaining a semblance of normality was beginning to take its toll already she noted with dread, and wondered how long she would be able to maintain the charade.

She picked up the box with the swan again, taking it out and watching with delight as it swam over the table in front of her. It was one of the most beautiful little things she had ever seen. Just over half an hour later her doorbell rang. She popped downstairs. It was Harry.

"Hi! Hoped you'd be in. Can I pop up for a bit?" He looked cheery enough, but Hermione could detect the edge in his voice. Still, she could hardly refuse her dearest friend.

"Hi Harry. Sure, come in." He stepped into the hallway and they made their way up the stairs. "Ron's not here, I'm afraid."

"I know. He mentioned he was going out this morning."

"Oh. When did you speak to him?"

"He came over yesterday afternoon."

She paused slightly. She should have guessed Ron would have been to see Harry and Ginny. "So you know about my little absence?"

"Yes."

"What did he say about it?" she asked quite matter-of-factly.

Harry continued, clearly concerned for them both. "He was worried about you. And admittedly pretty pissed off. It's not much fun to have your girlfriend walk out on you in the middle of the night for no real reason. He told me he'd hardly slept that night, but you seemed determined that you wanted to go and he let you."

"Did he tell you where I'd gone?" she asked warily.

"He said you sent him an owl saying you were at your parents'."

"I was." She sounded defensive and knew she shouldn't.

"OK. That's not a problem. You can go and see your parents whenever you want. It was just the manner in which you did it that bothered us all, basically." He sounded tetchy.

She rubbed her arms distractedly, trying to think up an explanation which would be truthful, but not reveal too much. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe it's ... maybe it's my job. It's fascinating and has revealed a lot about what's out there – to see, to enjoy ... Ron just isn't interested in those things and I ..."

"Come on, Hermione. You've experienced so much already with him. Enough adventure to last this lifetime and the next. I think the poor bugger has deserved to take it easy for a bit, don't you?"

He was trying to make a joke, but she didn't even flicker a smile.

"I've grown up, Harry. Not just through the war and all that happened. Sometimes I think I've grown beyond ..." she stopped, realising she had said too much to Harry and herself.

There was silence between them for a while.

"Are you telling me you want to end it with Ron?" His voice was stark and he sounded shocked.

She held her head in her hands, genuine confusion making her head ache desperately. "I don't know ... I don't know ... Maybe we're just going through a difficult patch. It happens, doesn't it?" She looked to him for confirmation.

"Yeah, of course ... but Hermione ... from what I can tell, this is all coming from you. Ron has done nothing differently, he's the same as he always was. So it's not a difficult patch for you _and_ Ron ... just you. But I don't want to see him hurting, and right now, he is. You need to speak to him. He can tell you're just not communicating, and you've never been like that before. That's what's worrying."

She sat silently, listening to him. He was right, of course, but she still could not summon the motivation to sort this out now. Her mind and soul were so dominated by Lucius, that anything getting in the way of it annoyed and bored her, including her treatment of Ron. She found herself growing tired and resentful of Harry's presence and his demand for explanations and spoke flatly.

"Yes, I know. I will when I'm ready. Anyway, I've got some things to sort out. Sorry, Harry. I'll see you soon, maybe next week some time?" She stood up quickly, startling him with this sudden abrupt dismissal.

"Fine. Right, Hermione. See you next week." His words were bitter. "You stay there, seeing as you've got so many things to be getting on with. Don't let me keep you. I can let myself out." He was angry, but Hermione's desire for him to leave overrode her remorse at upsetting him. The door slammed behind him, but the noise only signalled to Hermione that she was thankfully alone again.

She spent the rest of the day walking; in the park, around a museum, a gallery, his gift kept deeply in her bag next to her at all times. She thought of nothing except Lucius, and how she longed to be with him, showing him these sights, enjoying them with him. She was sure he would respond to them now, despite the Muggle hands and minds which had crafted them. It was after all her job. She decided the time had come to unleash Lucius Malfoy on the Muggle world. She felt a rush of excitement at the prospect, and could hardly believe she was doing it with the official sanction of the Minister of Magic.

Saturday evening passed largely silently but peacefully, Ron watching the TV, Hermione reading. Again, they slept far apart, Hermione willing the hours to pass. Sunday was a similar story. Hermione suggested lunch out, and they went to a Muggle pub by the river. It struck her what a wonderful moment it would have been, had she been able to spend it with someone else. But the noise and hubbub of the pub were a welcome distraction, and time slipped into afternoon and evening quite unobtrusively.

As Sunday evening wore on, Hermione felt her body girding itself for its reunion. Her nerves were alight and the dull ache which she had tried her hardest to suppress all weekend, for fear she would collapse otherwise, stirred itself into a throbbing which made her cry out for his touch and penetration. The anticipation and knowledge of its imminence was unbearable and she went to bed early, desperately willing sleep to take her so the morning would arrive sooner. Agonisingly slowly, it eventually did.

Ron noted that Hermione was in an unreasonably good mood on Monday morning, especially after the morose weekend. Any which way, he was relieved, although her mood swings were part of his concern. She looked beautiful and radiant as she went about her morning routine. He was happy to see her like that, but a thought suddenly occurred to him as she swept out of the flat, a thought that he quickly pushed to the back of his mind, too horrific to dwell on for more than a moment.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Hermione arrived at her office at 8:30 am, and immediately checked her diary to ensure Lucius was still due at 9 o'clock. He was. She briefly wondered what Priscilla and Ormus would think of him arriving at the very start of the working week, but then realised she didn't actually care. Her clock ticked infuriatingly slowly on the mantelpiece and she felt as if her body would explode with agony and longing. At 9 o'clock exactly she heard a low voice outside speak briefly to the secretary and she stood up, her entire being alight with anticipation.

____________________

He didn't knock. The door opened suddenly and he was there, tall and vital in the room. He shut the door rapidly behind him, wand in hand, and muttered some spells which Hermione recognised as locking and silencing charms. He needed only two rapid paces to reach her, discarding his outer robes in the process.

Their mouths met desperately, open, hungry, their need for each other so palpable and urgent that it was as if they had fused together. He reached feverishly down and pulled her skirt up, roughly tearing her underwear and stockings down in nearly the same motion. Her legs came up around him and he clasped her urgently to him, backing her rapidly up against the wall. She was pinned there by his hard, questing body. His mouth tore itself away from hers and travelled down her throat, almost devouring the flesh he found there.

The papers on the wall behind her crumpled and fell and she threw her hand up high behind her for support, finding a shelf which she clung to. His hand was at his trousers and they fell to his knees, followed by his boxers, his other hand holding her hard round her soft backside. She curled her legs round him as tightly as she could while still allowing him the movement she knew he needed. She felt him, iron hard and throbbing between her legs and her head fell back, a groan of imminent fulfilment filling the room. He positioned himself and thrust, fast and brutal, moaning desperately into her neck.

She was impaled upon him, wedged between the wall and his body. She clung harder to the shelf, allowing him to lean back slightly only to force himself back in again, yet deeper. _God, yes_. He pounded into her insistently, each time filling her so completely. _How had she survived without this for those days?_

His thrusts caught her clit and she knew the waves of delicious tension building inside her would soon be released. Her head was repeatedly thrown back onto the wall in unison with his movement, a gasp escaping her each time, but the pain it caused her only fuelled her desire further. Each frantic thrust elicited a deep groan torn from his depths and she knew he was close. The fire started to radiate out from her core. She snapped her eyes open and locked them urgently with his burning grey ones. It was enough.

His mouth opened in exquisite delirium and she felt him swelling inside her before his final spasms. The wave broke and she cried out as pleasure so intense swept through every muscle in her body she thought she would pass out. She felt his hot spurts shooting up, up into her as she rode it out, moaning uncontrollably into the charmed room.

As their pleasure subsided, he couldn't hold her anymore and had to pull out. She quickly slid down the wall onto the floor, her legs unable to support her. He sank down next to her, resting against the wall to her left. Their rapid, heavy breathing filled the air in an otherwise silent room.

They remained like that for some time, the intensity of their frantic coupling overwhelming them both. As they both calmed and their breathing returned to normal, he turned to her and said quite matter-of-factly, with his usual honeyed drawl, "Good morning."

She smiled wryly up at him and reached up, searching for his mouth. "Thank you for my present," she breathed into him. He smiled slightly down at her and she kissed him deeply, her tongue mingling with his so sensuously he moaned into her, causing her desire to immediately reignite. She reluctantly broke away and spoke succinctly, "The weekend was hell."

"Yes."

"I want you all the time. Is that wrong?"

"No," familiar arrogance tinged his answer, but she realised he meant it sincerely.

He slowly raised himself up, adjusted his clothing, and went and sat in the chair, as if expecting her to begin her questioning. She stayed where she was, her eyes meeting his. He had regained his composure and sat almost as if nothing had happened. He looked quite calmly at her, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands touching at the fingertips. His haughtiness frustrated her, but equally stoked the flames burning inside. She knew what she had to do, needed to do.

Their eyes still locked, she spoke softly but firmly, "Stand up."

He raised an eyebrow quizzically at her, curiosity flickering over his face. He did not move.

She repeated it, a similar tone, but slightly more forceful. "Stand up."

Not taking his eyes from her he slowly complied, straightening his legs and stretching himself up to his full height. Again his eyebrow elevated in an expectant query. He was a magnificent sight looming over her and her insides flipped. Still maintaining eye contact, she slowly reached over, placed her hands on the floor in front of her and swivelled her legs out from under her, so she was on all fours. Slowly and deliberately she started an elegant crawl towards him, all the time keeping her eyes firmly locked on his.

He was already discernibly bulging out towards her by the time she reached him. She sat back on her haunches, looking up at him, before kneeling up. He looked down at her, his face impassive, although she could see a slight flushing on his cheeks and his chest rising and falling a fraction more rapidly than usual.

She slowly reached for his belt and the buttons on his trousers. The buckle parted with slight resistance and as she undid each button with care and deliberation, she noticed a slight hiss escape his lips. His trousers and boxers fell and he was revealed, erect and urgent before her. She studied him, noting with curious delight the veins stretching under the rigid flesh, the slight bend, the head, large and smooth, darker than the rest. As she gazed, it twitched as if reaching out to her and again she glanced up into his eyes, reading unashamed lust in them, amidst an otherwise immovable face.

Lowering her gaze to his beautiful member, stretched expectantly towards her, she moved in towards him, opening her mouth and allowing her tongue to flicker out. He jerked slightly again, betraying his desire. Her tongue touched the tip, then pulled back. Another soft hiss from his lips. She repeated the process, this time letting her tongue linger slightly, licking around the slit. She could tell he was breathing rapidly now and she enjoyed the sense of control she had over him. Leaning in more, she let the head settle inside her mouth, barely touching it, just breathing her hot sweet breath around it and occasionally allowing her tongue to flick across the very tip. She amazed herself with her own self-control. She was desperate to take it in as far as she could, tasting and sucking this exquisite thing, but she resisted, revelling in the power she wielded.

At last she closed her mouth around the head, her tongue languorously exploring it. Her right hand came up and she grasped his lower length in her fingers, pulling the skin around its iron core slightly. He at last could not stifle a groan and she smiled around him in her mouth. Now she focused her energies more fervently, letting the head pop out and licking down the underside of the shaft, then up again along the side, taking the head back in her mouth briefly before repeating the process on the other side. She could feel her own pants soaked with desire and her belly twisted with longing. However, this transmitted itself directly to a hunger to taste and engulf him with her lips, tongue and mouth, never had she known such a feeling.

She had only occasionally indulged Ron in this way, and had found the whole act unappealing and quite nauseating. It had never been a rewarding experience for either of them. How different now. Her desire to have this man deep in her mouth and throat staggered and emboldened her.

She started to take him deeper, sucking forcefully, then relaxing and teasing him with the tip of her tongue, running it tantalisingly along the slit, tasting the first drops of his pleasure. The saltiness of it registered strongly with her, making her crave more. He groaned deep in the back of his throat, his head falling back uncontrollably. She enveloped the head in her mouth, then slid further down onto him, relaxing her throat and allowing him to push back. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and it fired her lust, but she found she could only hold him there for a brief moment and then she pulled back, gasping for air.

She looked up at him. He was again staring down at her with a look of sheer wonder and ecstasy on his face. She lowered her head again, desperate for him inside her mouth. She took him further still, finding she could soon hold him there for longer, and drawing a guttural groan from him. This turned her on so much that she moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to jolt in her mouth.

He reached down and grabbed her hair painfully in his hands, pushing her head down further onto his length. She quickly pulled back, releasing her mouth from him and shaking her hair free. _No_. She was in control here. She would have welcomed his forceful approach at any other time, but not now. She stared up at him and his hands dropped to his sides. He understood and complied, but she knew he was struggling to control himself. She would not deny him for much longer.

Her hands came up and she cupped his sac, squeezing gently. Holding her hand there, she once again lowered her head, her tongue swirling around his head as she took him deep down her. She could feel his tip grazing the back of her throat as she sucked his length hard with her lips and cheeks. Her head moved deliciously up and down, each time travelling almost his whole length, although he was so big, that would have been impossible. He was moaning almost incessantly now and she felt his iron hardness swelling yet more. She moved rapidly, her tongue catching the tip each time on the way down and her hands squeezing ever more urgently.

He groaned into the air, "Now, witch ... _it's now_ ...", his words warped into indistinguishable utterings of ecstasy. She felt him suddenly tighten and tense, then he came, long hot spurts, hitting her throat over and over again. She released him up into her mouth and caught the last drops on her tongue, holding it there, revelling in the taste and feel of him in her mouth. A moan unlike anything she had heard before sounded from him. It was a sound of release, release from tension and pain built up over so long. Once she was sure he had come down, she released him gently from her mouth, feeling his seed on her tongue. She closed her mouth and swallowed, the salty taste exquisite to her, reinforcing her triumph.

She glanced up at him. He was looking down at her, an expression of complete fulfilment and delirium on his face. She had never felt so empowered and had amazed herself with the fervour she had felt. Her hunger for him had been desperate, and she felt she could have come from taking him in her mouth and throat alone.

She leaned back so far that she found herself lying on the floor, stretching her legs out before her. Her eyes closed in remembered bliss of what she had just done and the power she had had over him. It was sublime.

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**...**

**Let me know what you think, if you feel inclined to do so ...**

**Until tomorrow ...**

**x**


	20. Twenty: Discovery

**Onwards ...**

**Not quite such a long chapter, but some significant and interesting moments ...**

**Thank you again for the reviews, including the lovely anonymous ones - so kind.**

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Twenty - Discovery

Hermione lay on the floor, almost unaware of her surroundings and even of Lucius, for some time. She didn't open her eyes and her breathing was deep. Her body was still alive with the emotions she had just experienced and she had no wish to re-enter the cold reality of mundane life.

As she lay there, only semi-conscious, she felt something on her thigh. She thought she was dreaming, but it burned her skin and elicited an electric jolt to her core. The insistent, questing feeling continued, travelling up her inner thigh now, reaching ever upwards towards the tight bud of nerves at her very centre. She summoned her energy to focus on what was happening and raised her head slightly to look down. She was met by the sight of the top of his blond head, entirely focused on his task.

She lay back down, a slight resentment creeping over her that she had relinquished control to him so soon, but as his tongue touched her inner folds and licked languorously up towards her burning clit, it was quickly swept aside. Her back arched and she pushed towards him. His left hand came up and pressed down on her belly, while his right caressed up her leg. She tried to raise her back off the floor once again, desperate for as much contact as possible, but he held her firmly and her frustrated groan echoed round the room.

He licked and nipped around her taut bud, so near and yet so far, then swept his tongue leisurely down again, dipping into her passage before travelling up towards its eventual goal once more. Her head thrashed violently and she reached down to grasp his hair in her hand, twisting it sharply in her fingers and crushing his head into her. Unlike her, he allowed her the leverage and moaned into her at the delicious pain that pricked him. He reached up with his right hand and slipped a finger up into her, eliciting a long groan from her. She felt another finger join the first and they began a pulsing caress deep within her, as his tongue continued its idle assault on her tender folds.

His skilled fingers found that elusive spot inside her and her mind clouded. Her insides were on fire; she wanted to scream. She tried once again to raise her hips ever closer to his divine hot, wet mouth, but his strong hand denied her and she growled her dissent loudly. His fingers rubbed inside her exquisitely and she felt the familiar clenching as her body prepared to plummet from the precipice. At that moment, his tongue swept up and found her clit, his lips engulfing it and sucking hard. Lights flashed behind her eyelids and her body dissolved in a cascading tide of pleasure. He held her firmly on the floor, and her forced immobility meant that the agonised spasms were concentrated even more in her very muscles and fibres. She screamed his name brutally, her fingers digging sharply into his scalp.

As she at last relaxed, her body twitching slightly from the remembered rapture, she relinquished her grasp on his hair. She opened her eyes blearily. He was leaning over her, a faint smile of satisfaction on his face. "Now we're equal," he drawled. Her fingertips felt wet and, raising her hands up, she saw that she had blood on them. A gasp came from her and she looked to him in shock. She raised her hands to his scalp and parted the hair, seeing the deep red scratches she had inflicted.

"I hurt you. I'm sorry." Her instinct for decency kicked in and she felt genuinely apologetic.

He looked deep into her eyes, then reached down and kissed her, hard and deep. When he finally broke away, he said with a fierce certainty. "Do not apologise to me for _anything. _As I have said before ... You are exquisite."

He spoke with such tenderness and wonder that Hermione felt her eyes prick. She turned her head away quickly and was relieved when he stood up and went to sit in the chair, not wanting to show him her naked reaction.

Eventually she stood up and adjusted her clothing, whispering a quick tidying spell to ensure her decency. She didn't bother to sit back down, but stood boldly in front of him and spoke clearly. "I'm going to take you to the V and A today."

A predictable raise of the eyebrows. "The V and _what_?"

"The Victoria and Albert Museum. You don't fool me with your faux ignorance, Lucius Malfoy," she teased. "I find it very hard to believe that you haven't heard of it. It contains some of the finest examples of art and design the world has ever produced, as I'm sure you know, although even I admit you have probably never deigned to go there."

He smirked across at her, and she knew she was right. She continued confidently, "You'll have to change your clothes. What you wore to lunch the other day will be ... more than satisfactory." She paused, remembering how stunning he had looked in the high-collared buttoned jacket. "All right?" she raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his reply.

"Do I have a choice?" he drawled.

"No," she said abruptly, relishing her power over him once again. "I'm going to go and find some other clothes as well. I'll be back in thirty minutes and expect you to have done the same." With that she spun sensuously away from him and left the room. He stood momentarily, a smile playing on his lips, then disapparated back to the Manor to change.

Half an hour later, Hermione was back in her office, clad in skinny jeans, boots and a top which clung in all the right places. A light scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck and her hair was tied up. He had beaten her to it, and as she entered the room, his eyes swept languorously over her body. She gasped when she looked at him. He was not wearing the clothes from the other day, instead he had on a crisp blue Muggle shirt with a small check, although she could tell it was very well-tailored. The top two buttons were undone and he had rolled the sleeves up slightly. His hair was once again tied back unobtrusively, highlighting the fine features of his face, but it was what he had on his legs that took Hermione's breath away, at both the shock of what they were, but also at how good he looked in them.

He was wearing jeans. Admittedly, they were a heavy, dark denim, and clearly very expensive, but they were jeans none the less. Hermione exhaled a slight wondrous laugh at the delighted shock she felt.

"What?" he asked sharply.

"Nothing," she stumbled. "It's just ... I'm not used to seeing you like that ..."

"Like _what_?" She could tell he felt awkward at her reaction.

"Well ... you're wearing ... _jeans_."

"_And _...?" His words were increasingly frustrated and tetchy now. "Is there a problem with that?" If Lucius Malfoy did embarrassment, this would be it.

"No, no, not at all. It's just so different and ..." she approached him, this time letting her eyes sweep slowly up and down his long body. "You look _amazing_."

She looked up into his eyes, a flirtatious smirk on her face. "I hoped I'd be able to concentrate on fine art this morning, but with you looking like that, it may prove difficult." She held his gaze, reading the lust in his eyes. She was desperate to kiss him again, but just as he made a move to lower his head towards her, she moved swiftly away from him and headed for the door. "Come on then. Let's get going." She swept out of her office, a slight satisfied smile caressing her features.

She didn't have a chance to see him catch himself, a brief grimace flitting across his features at the sudden removal of her body from before him.

"I'm taking Mr Malfoy to a museum as part of his programme. You may inform Ormus," she called to the secretary on passing. Priscilla looked up in surprise as Hermione breezed out, but her jaw almost hit the floor when the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy then followed, wearing a shirt and jeans.

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They took a taxi to the V and A, Lucius sitting rather uncomfortably in the back of the black cab, a look of distaste on his face, clearly thinking about all the Muggle bottoms which had occupied the seat before him. Hermione smiled wryly at his reaction. He may be trying, but there was a long way to go.

They started a leisurely stroll around the galleries, Lucius allowing Hermione to be his guide, feigning a bored disinterest, but she could tell that he was taking on board every word she said, and she often found him lingering after her, studying a particular object intensely.

They entered a gallery of early 20th century Russian jewellery and ornaments. The beauty of the objects was exquisite and Hermione found herself gazing with wonder at the detail and luxury of each piece. Just then her eye fell on something that made her gasp in astonishment. There in front of her was a little enamel, diamond encrusted swan, exactly like the one Lucius had given her. She read the card beside it. "Faberge, St Petersburg, 1907."

At that moment she felt him approach beside her and looked up at him in bewilderment and astonishment. "That swan. It's ... it's identical to the one you gave me."

"No. Yours is even more precious as it is enchanted." He spoke quite plainly.

"Is mine ... _Faberge_ _too_?" She could hardly believe she was saying it.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"But how ... ?" she continued, at a loss for words.

"My grandfather was head of the Department of Foreign Magical Relations at the turn of the last century. He spent a considerable amount of time in Russia. That was a gift from the Russian Minister of Magic at the time. He had it commissioned especially, and Faberge, due to his illustrious position, knew who, or rather, _what_ the Minister was, and allowed him personal access during the manufacturing process to enchant it. It could not have been done otherwise. I understood that Faberge went on to make one or two more, unenchanted of course. It is satisfying to see one at last." He bent down to study the object in the case, seemingly unaware of Hermione's amazed reaction.

"But ... then it's a family heirloom, and ... _priceless_." Hermione was staggered, not sure what to say.

"Yes," he drawled simply, then turned from her and moved on to the next gallery.

She stood for a moment, shocked by the revelation, then turned and followed him, so moved that she was unable to speak anymore about it.

After perusing several more galleries, Hermione eventually regaining her verbosity and exuberance over her tutoring of Lucius, they stopped for lunch.

They sat in the huge courtyard terrace in the middle of the museum, the water in the pools in the centre shining in the summer sunlight. The pools were clean and shallow and children were paddling and splashing in them, the sound of their happy laughter echoing around the building. It was a wonderful moment, but Hermione was worried about how Lucius would react, and glanced apprehensively over at him. His face was quite impassive, but certainly not annoyed, and she thought she could even detect a softening of his features as the children's giggles rang out.

They ate their lunch contentedly, Hermione occasionally remembering something they'd seen and commenting on some aspect of it that she connected to something else. He said little, but she was aware from his peaceful silence that he at least tolerated her discourse, if not admired it.

One of the girls from the pond had got out and was running around near them, a toy clutched in her hand. Hermione could tell it was a copy of a small but beautiful china doll she had seen in one of the collections, clearly just bought from the museum shop. It was a cheap imitation, but it was still breakable, and Hermione gasped with despair as she saw the child trip and the doll break into several irreparable pieces. The girl immediately burst into tears, trying to pick up the fragments in front of her. Her mother was on the other side of the pool and Hermione did not think she had seen what had happened. They were closer to her than anyone else and Hermione pushed back on her chair to go the girl, but before she could, Lucius had risen swiftly and crossed to the child. Hermione could hardly believe what she was seeing.

He bent down to the little girl and picked up the fragments of her broken toy. Encircling them in his hands, he lifted them to his mouth, pursed his lips and blew over them gently. Then, slowly opening his palms, he revealed the toy to her, the pieces once again intact.

The girl's eyes widened in astonishment and she smiled in wonder at him. She asked in hushed amazement, "How did you do that?"

He leant in to her a little, looked her in the eyes, then whispered, "Magic!"

The child's eyes widened in amazement and she smiled at him in awed appreciation, mouthed, 'Thank you', then turned and ran off to her mother.

Hermione lowered her head and smiled at the tender ironic beauty of the moment. Muggle parents used that explanation so often to allow for the little deceits they often spun around their children. It was obviously never said genuinely, but Hermione felt that the little girl perhaps sensed that on this occasion she may have actually heard the truth.

He turned and looked up at her, his eyes shining at the experience and Hermione's reaction to it. But standing up, he quickly returned his face as rapidly as possible to its impassive countenance, as if remembering who he was.

"You are very good with children," she said sincerely, a glow spreading through her at what she had just witnessed.

He breathed out disparagingly. "That was clearly a one-off occurrence. I can assure you that has not always been the case."

"Draco adores you. You must have done something right."

"I indulged him. He knew what side his bread was buttered on, that is all." He spoke dismissively.

"It was more than that. When you were in Azkaban, he was desperate. He talked about you constantly."

"Wounded pride. Shame. No more." His lips were pursed and his features tight.

"No, Lucius. He hated the thought of you in there. He worried deeply about you. It was the main reason he was so vulnerable and ... open to ... suggestion that year. He respects you immensely. You don't get that from spoiling a child materially, quite the opposite." She wondered how he would react to her words, but he gave little away, just stared straight ahead, clearly thinking about what she had said.

She walked over to him, looking up into his face, which he kept turned slightly from her. He inhaled deeply. "I love my son ... very much."

She gently took his hand and squeezed it slightly. "Come along. We should probably be heading back," she said tenderly, leading him slowly back inside.

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**God, I wish Lucius Malfoy would lean down and whisper "Magic" to me!!!**

**More tomorrow.**

**Would LOVE to know what you thought of this chapter - I really enjoyed writing it.**

**x**


	21. Twenty One: Reminder

**OK ... here we go. Beware - this chapter is a bit darker than usual, but remember, this is Lucius we're talking about ... he's been trying hard, but there's still a long way to go ...**

**But how does Hermione react ...?**

**Quite an intense chapter, so if easily offended, skip latter part of chapter ... still, it is all very important to their characters and the nature of their obsessive relationship.**

**Thank you once again for all the lovely, lovely reviews. There will be more chapters like the previous one, but this isn't one of them.**

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Twenty One - Reminder

Not wanting to get back to the Ministry any sooner than was absolutely necessary, they took another taxi, rather than apparating, which they could easily have done by then. This time Lucius sat contentedly, leaning back and looking out of the window at the passing Muggle oddities. He seemed completely at peace. Hermione gazed across at him. Strangely, it was nice to study him without her eyes locked into his for once. His visage would never quite lose the expression of haughty superiority - she admitted she wouldn't find him so attractive if it did - but his features had softened considerably since her visit to the Manor, and the tension which had always existed around his mouth and cheekbones was no longer apparent.

After a while he turned to look at her and found her smiling curiously at him. He raised his eyebrow in query. She leant forward and kissed him gently on the lips in response, then leant back again to look out of her window. They continued the journey in silence.

On returning to the Ministry, they walked side by side up to her department. Hermione could tell that they were attracting a lot of attention and whispered comment. She did not care and glancing at him, realised he didn't either. Anyway, she was, after all, on official Ministry business. They arrived back to her floor, but on passing Ormus' office, she saw him there talking to Kingsley himself.

Ormus noticed her return and jumped up quickly, coming to the doorway of his office and calling after them. "Hermione, Malfoy. Could you please come in here a moment? Kingsley and I were just discussing your case."

His use of the term "case" made Hermione feel slightly uneasy, as if she was the subject of an enquiry. She glanced at Malfoy, whose face had hardened again. They went in, both choosing to stand.

Kingsley looked carefully at Lucius before speaking. "I understand you took Mr Malfoy to a museum today, Hermione?"

"Yes. We went to the V and A," she replied straightforwardly.

"And how did that go?"

"It went very well ... it was great, actually ... it is an amazing place, as I'm sure you know." She looked to Lucius to corroborate her words, but he remained silent, his features regaining much of their former cold edge. She felt slightly hurt that he would not speak.

"Good," Kingsley eventually continued. "And you two seem to be ... getting on alright?" He spoke with a concerned curiosity.

"Yes," Hermione replied briefly, wishing the blond wizard next to her would back her up. His silence was increasingly frustrating. Surely he owed her the respect of supporting her in front of her bosses?

Silence hung about them for the longest while; Hermione, Ormus and Kingsley all waiting for the remaining person in the room to speak. He obstinately refused to do so. At length, Kingsley turned to him. "Mr Malfoy?"

Lucius slowly raised his gaze coldly to meet the eyes of the Minister of Magic. Hermione recalled that the only times she had seem them together before had been on opposing sides in a battle or duel. The tension now was almost as unbearable. Still Lucius did not speak. Hermione resisted the urge to press him to do so.

Receiving no response, Kingsley continued, "Are you satisfied with the work Miss Granger has been doing with you?"

Hermione flushed slightly at his choice of words and lowered her eyes, hoping Ormus had not noticed her reddening cheeks. She waited for his reply. It was a long time coming.

"Miss Granger has been most ... illuminating." Hermione felt her blood pulsing hot round her body as his silky, slow words met her ears. His voice sounded quite frosty and superior, just like the Malfoy of old, but she was relieved he had finally broken his silence in such a flattering way. She turned to look at him in thanks, but he stared resolutely ahead, his lips pursed slightly.

When it became evident he would say no more, Kingsley spoke again. "Good ... well ... I'm pleased to hear that you are both happy with the way things are going. Are you happy to continue the sessions, Miss Granger?"

The shock that he might have actually ended them took Hermione by surprise and she quickly blurted out, "Yes ... yes ... we've only just begun ... there is so much more to do ... we have to continue." She realised too late that she sounded rather desperate and noticed Ormus looking at her curiously, his brows furrowed in concentration. She lowered her head and shut up.

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully, but with a look of mild distraction on his face, then turned to Lucius. "Mr Malfoy? Happy to go on? This is, after all, seen as a necessary part of your programme."

Lucius had not taken his eyes off Kingsley and now his stare filled with a look of such contempt that Hermione feared he would do or say something rash. Instead he said perfunctorily, "Naturally." There was a pause where no one spoke, then Lucius once again intoned sardonically, "May I go now?"

Hermione was startled, worried he would go without her being able to say goodbye. She could not bear that, especially after the wonderful morning they had had. A look of panic swept across her face as Kingsley nodded, "Yes. Please, both of you, keep me informed of your progress. Thank you."

Lucius turned swiftly to leave, and Hermione followed him out, hurrying after him rather too obviously she later thought. She was immensely relieved when he walked swiftly to her own office. She followed him in and closed the door behind her, silencing the room in case he revealed his temper to the whole department. He had crossed to the window and stood rigidly staring out.

Hermione could sense the fury burning inside him, but merely found it strangely reassuring. The familiarity of his former personality somehow sat just as comfortably with her as his recently mellowed emotions. She approached him slowly and stood slightly apart from him, allowing him the space and time to speak. Eventually, he did.

"I do not like being ... _monitored_," he spat the words out with sharp bitterness. "Particularly ... by _him_."

"I understand," she said gently.

He turned and fixed her with his eyes, anger flashing in them. "I don't want your _understanding_. I don't want you for your ... calm assessment of the situation, your obsequiance to their authority. I want your passion, your hunger, your desire. How dare they make us stand there and tolerate their banal little regulations and recommendations and 'programmes'?"

His words issued forth venomously and Hermione did not respond. She turned away from him and sat down at her desk, leaving him staring out of the window. This was the first time he had allowed his old self to emerge since he had grabbed her by the throat at their initial appointment. It neither scared nor worried her, and she was flattered once again by his confession of feelings for her. If passion was what he wanted, passion he would get. But at that precise moment, she sensed he just needed time to think. She was happy to give it to him. He surprised her with his next words.

"I don't want you to go back to him."

Hermione was bewildered. "Kingsley? He doesn't need to see me again today."

"That is not what I meant." He hissed his words out sharply.

Realisation hit her. He was talking about Ron.

She sat silently, her back towards him. She had been vaguely aware this conversation would happen, but was unprepared for it all the same.

"You know I have to."

He did not respond for a long while, seemingly accepting her words. But then he spoke, his voice like a shard of ice.

"Do not let him touch you. If he touches you I will kill him."

Her head shot up and her body tensed. A wave of nausea broke over her. Was it a figure of speech? She knew it was not.

She stood up and turned to confront him, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing.

"Don't you ever speak to me like that again. You do not own me. I am in control of this situation and I will do exactly what I need to do in my own time. Do not presume to tell me how to run my life. And don't you ever threaten anyone dear to me again."

They stayed staring at each other. Their breathing rapid and their bodies clenched in fury. She had never seen him looking so enraged. His eyes were frozen pools penetrating hers, but she stared back defiantly. She knew she should feel threatened, but his arrogant demand and vengeful declaration merely ignited her resilience. She had never felt such burning fury towards him, and knew he was equally enraged by her defiance, but still neither could prevent the inevitable.

He moved first but she almost instantly acquiesced. He grabbed her hard on the upper arms, his fingers digging painfully into her tender flesh, and pulled her roughly into him. His mouth crashed down on hers, forcing her lips apart with his teeth and assaulting her with his tongue. She knew she should stop, push him away. She tried momentarily, but he was too strong for her and her resistance crumbled under the feel of his hard body pressing forcefully into hers. The fire inside her flamed and her nerves were instantly alight. She met his tongue with her own, battling it, and pressed her hips towards him, feeling his furious arousal against her.

He reached out with his foot and kicked her desk chair away. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Then pushing her away roughly, his eyes momentarily searing her own, he spun her brutally around and down onto her desk. She gasped, desperately trying to tell herself to resist, cry out, make him stop, but hopelessly unable, unwilling to. She felt the flood between her legs, and knew she was soaking for him already.

He reached roughly down with one hand and pulled up her skirt, tearing her stocking in the process. His other hand came up to the back of her neck and pushed her further down onto the desk. His breath was deep and urgent, but he said nothing. She heard his hand at his trouser buttons, and then almost immediately he thrust, filling her instantly with his iron member. She cried out with the shock of his size suddenly inside her. The force of it propelled her along the desk, her breasts scraping painfully against the array of objects which were atop it. The sensation merely fuelled her desire further and she groaned deeply against the smooth oak.

He hissed in reply, pulled out almost completely then plunged back into her, even deeper than before. He had instantly found her g-spot and she immediately felt an exquisite clenching in her core. He repeated his actions, nearly withdrawing out of her, before thrusting forcefully back in to the hilt, each time forcing her breasts and belly roughly along the desk.

He leaned over her, his breath steaming in her ear. His voice, still so silky, but now heavy with spite and fury, pierced her. "I'm going to fuck him out of you. If he lays a finger on you, I'll be there to wipe him out, eradicate him from your body and soul forever. I don't want him near you. _I will_ - _fuck_ - _him_ - _out of you_." Each word was punctuated with a thrust into her depths.

His voice sent a delirious tremor through her body and, combined with him hitting the perfect spot over and over again with his violent thrusts, she felt herself teetering on the brink. All reason was lost. She no longer knew if she was real or not.

He continued to pound her, his pace now frantic. She moaned incoherently, every muscle in her body tensed. "Yes ... _yes_ ... I'm yours ... I'm only yours ... God, don't stop ... _don't ever stop_ ... fuck me clean ... _harder_ ... as hard as you fucking can ..." Her words turned to delirious groans and spurred him on even more. He clasped his hands painfully into her hips and he threw his head back ecstatically as he began to convulse, a guttural cry ripped from his throat as he felt her falling apart around him. She screamed his name desperately as she came, the tide of pleasure engulfing her body threatening to send her into madness. As she pulsed tightly around his iron cock, he spurted frantically into her, his cry of triumph turning into a groan of deepest fulfilment.

He stood buried deep in her for the longest time, every so often jerking forward into her, reminding her of his presence, still surprisingly hard. She lay motionless, splayed out on the desk before him, her breathing gradually returning to normal.

After an age he slowly pulled himself out of her. She winced with the despair of his withdrawal, but didn't let him see. He moved out from behind the desk, picking the chair up abruptly. She slowly pushed herself up, trying her best to adjust her clothing. Two buttons on her shirt had broken and her stocking was torn and laddered all the way down to her ankle. Parts of her torso and hips twinged where they had been forced against the desk.

He looked across at her, betraying no emotion on his face. He spoke clinically but compellingly. "Come to the Manor tomorrow evening. You will stay the night."

She gave no reply. He did not expect one. They both knew she would be there.

He remained staring at her for a while. She dreaded the moment she knew he would turn and go, but knew it must happen. He made a slight movement, as if about to cross to her again, but stopped himself. A pang of disappointment hit her, but she knew there could be no tender parting this time. The intense passion just exhibited still sparked the air and needed to remain so. His eyes burned her soul a moment longer, then he turned and left swiftly, leaving only his heady aroma in the room.

Hermione sat at her desk once again, running her hands over it in remembrance of what had just been. Bringing her mind back to the present she eventually reached for her wand and mumbled a few spells to mend her clothes and tidy herself up.

Her body and soul burned so much with the passion that had just passed between them, that her mind prevented her from thinking about the conversation which had precipitated it. She spent the rest of the day in her office, finishing up some work, then roused herself to go back to her flat at half past five.

When she entered she did not call out to greet Ron as she normally did. He looked around as she came in, mumbling, "Hello," which she returned impassively. She caught him looking at her coldly and wondered briefly about the reason why, they had parted straightforwardly enough that morning, but she was too weary to think too long on it. She remembered, however, that she would have to think of a reason for being away the following night. She left it until she had changed and was sitting next to him, eating her supper. She tried to sound as casual, but genuine, as possible.

"Milly phoned me today, you know, the girl I knew from Junior School who I've got friendly with again. Her mother has just passed away and she's got no one else at the moment. She's asked if I can go over and stay with her tomorrow. I couldn't really say no, she was so upset."

Ron turned and looked at her with such animosity she felt sick. He said nothing, but maintained his glare for what seemed like an age. Hermione swallowed nervously, praying he would accept it. Slowly he turned back and reached for his wand to turn the television on. "Fine," he said tersely, turning and staring at the screen, ignoring her. She doubted he accepted her explanation, but left it at that.

They hardly spoke a word to each other for the rest of the night and, as they lay far apart in bed, Hermione realised that she had complied with Lucius' demands for Ron not to touch her.

She lay in the darkness, finally thinking over the day's events. She thought about the sex, how varied it had been over the course of the day, as had his personality, and hers for that matter. Why did she now not feel more outrage over his words? Why was she not more fearful for Ron? Surely she should be disappointed with Lucius' apparent reversion to his former nature? She was not.

As ever, there were no answers.

She replayed moments from the day over and over again: their first frantic coupling, taking him in her mouth, his mouth on her, riding in the taxi, her discovery of the Faberge swan, the incident with the broken toy, the meeting with Kingsley, their heated fury, him forcing her over the desk, pounding into her, over and over.

She realised that tears were streaming down her face and eventually cried herself to sleep. But it was not with regret.

She was weeping bitterly because she felt no regret whatsoever.

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**Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear ...**

**R and R if you would like ... I would like ...**

**x**


	22. Twenty Two: Exploration

**Thank you still for the reviews - they keep me very happy!**

**So ... next chapter ...**

**A bit of thinking for Hermione to do to start with ... poor Ron ... and then ... a lot of sex. I contemplated cutting it down a bit, but then thought ....naaah!**

**I still hope it continues to explain and describe their relationship, but my hormones were obviously having a field day when I wrote this (and the next few chapters ... ho hum ...)**

**I can promise lots of plot and emotional angst to come, but in the meantime ...enjoy! (I hope ... let me know!)**

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Twenty Two – Exploration

Hermione awoke the next day to the weary realisation that things were coming to a head with Ron. She could no longer deny that he did little, if anything, to fulfil her needs, physical or otherwise. Her relationship with Lucius had finally revealed this to her, but in reality they had been growing apart as a couple for a long time. Had they ever actually been close as partners, as lovers?

For years she had told herself that his companionship and uncomplicated expectations made her happy. This had seemed adequate after the trauma and horrific experiences of her later years at Hogwarts. She was almost relieved that she now realised how misleading that was.

Their relationship had been easy, obvious, almost expected, and they had fallen into it through shared nightmarish experiences. It had quickly become a habit, and neither had bothered to question its validity or merit. Ron had been her friend, one of her dearest friends. Nothing would change that in her mind, although she acknowledged apprehensively that he probably would not see it that way. She hoped that at the end of all this, he may still return to being a friend.

But why had she ever thought he could be more than that? There was so much beauty out there – for her mind, body and soul. As the person she was now, Ron simply could not provide it.

Now that the end was near, Hermione felt a slight shame that she was experiencing neither remorse nor disappointment. The relationship had deteriorated in much the same way as Lucius had described the breakdown of his marriage, and she didn't wish it to persist unnecessarily, leading to the resentment and disgust he had experienced. Still, the thought of putting an end to it filled her with dread, not only as she knew it would devastate Ron, but also aware of how shocked and disappointed Harry, Ginny and the Weasleys would be.

She owed him so much - he had been a companion, a support, someone who made her laugh. At some point she would have to deal with this and grant him the dignity he deserved. But she knew that she had not yet mustered the emotional fortitude to do this. Her soul was so full of another man, that there was no room for anything else. She would maintain the charade for the time being, although knew it could not persist for long.

Never had she been so selfish, but never had she been so completely sure of something either. She wanted Lucius. She did not want Ron.

She got out of bed, showered and dressed, once again looking stunning. She sat down at the breakfast table opposite Ron and buttered some toast. He looked sullen, and she was unnerved by his frosty silence. Guilt suddenly welled up in her, more than ever before.

He said nothing, she too silent, unsure of what to say. Just as she rose to leave, he spoke, suddenly and forcefully.

"Are you having an affair with Snipworth?"

She turned and stared down at him, completely dumbstruck by his question. The relief that he had got it so wrong, combined with the horror at how close he was, struck her violently, and she responded by throwing her head back and laughing uncontrollably.

He looked at her with utter contempt, before returning to his bowl of cornflakes.

After she had regained some control of her mind, she turned to him and replied, oddly truthful, "No ... God, no. How could I ever ... ? Ormus!?"

He looked up at her, a mixture of bewilderment and resentment on his face, his spoon dangling from his hand.

"Ron ..." she hesitated.

He threw his spoon into the bowl and slumped back in his chair, arms folded.

"You know, Hermione, I feel like I don't know you anymore. We never talk. You're hardly ever here ... if you are you may as well not be, the amount of time you give me ... Just go ... go to your job ... your muggle friends. I'll see you ... whenever ... whenever, Hermione."

He didn't look up. She stood there for a moment, feeling shameful and alone. He remained silent, staring straight ahead, refusing to meet her eyes.

She shifted uncertainly for a moment, then turned and left, mumbling a barely audible, "Bye ..."

Once outside, Hermione's sense of shame and guilt swelled. She found it almost comforting that she did indeed feel this way, so barren had her emotional response to Ron been recently. But as she walked through the streets, she noticed that the more distance she put between herself and the flat, the more it diminished, until again she felt little but relief to be away from the oppressive atmosphere she had left behind.

It was equally a relief to have mundane work to focus on at the Ministry. She knew at least that without Lucius' presence there would be no whisperings and surveillance, although was acutely aware that she could only tolerate her day knowing that she would see him at the end of it.

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The day passed remarkably swiftly. She stayed on late, clearly not wishing to return to the flat, but equally not wanting to arrive at the Manor before time.

The work-elves glanced with their usual annoyance at her as she busied herself further, trying not to think about her imminent reunion with Lucius. Inevitably, it was impossible, and she realised time and time again that the paragraph she had been reading had remained unabsorbed. Her mind dwelt solely on Lucius, and the manner in which they had parted yesterday.

She had relinquished control to him completely the day before, at a moment when she had least expected it. Their relationship seemed to twist and turn in its dominance. At one point she held the power in her hands, the next he took it forcefully and she revelled in his control over her. His sudden seeming return to his previous nature had taken her by surprise and she had reacted accordingly, but she acknowledged that his passion, his fire, his arrogance, all fuelled her own desire for him. His anger yesterday, although she had responded in kind, had, she realised, not threatened her, although she had no doubt that he meant his words absolutely as he spoke them.

Would he really murder Ron? She doubted it, not now, but he had believed it at the time, of that she was certain. But instead of fear for Ron, she merely felt a swelling in her heart and belly at Lucius' fierce devotion to her. Wasn't that what every woman wanted – a man who swore he would kill for her? She shivered slightly at the archaic realisation.

Overall, their relationship had settled into a pattern she had never experienced with Ron. She realised that at times they brought out the best in each other, although there were the times when they brought out ... other aspects ...

She shook herself out of her reverie and glanced at her watch. It was half past six. Surely she could go to him now?

Suddenly galvanised into action, and realising she could be with him within minutes, she quickly rushed to the bathroom, where she studied herself in the mirror. She looked as if she had been working all day, as was indeed the case. Her hair was ruffled and her cheeks glowed with fatigue, but she could tell she had a certain dishevelled charm she thought he would appreciate. Satisfied with what she saw, she returned to her office, withdrew her wand and disapparated quickly.

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This time she landed with a bump on the ground outside the front door. The Manor looked less forbidding in the gentle evening sun and she sat where she was for a while, looking up at the elegant facade. Her hair tumbled over her face, and her legs, although she didn't realise it, were bent out in an oddly sensual manner, and as she gazed upwards curiously, the great front door opened and light spilt out over her, his broad frame silhouetted within it.

He stood looking down at her. His expression was one of sheer conceit and his eyes burned with an icy flame. She caught his eye, still panting from the shock of apparition. His arrogant demeanour, often absent these days, drove her mad, and she felt her insides twist in longing. God, this man knew how to get her going in ways she hated to admit.

For his part, Lucius Malfoy had never seen anything quite so exquisite as this brilliant witch splayed out on his doorstep, her hair cascading over her flushed cheeks, her legs open and revealing tantalising glimpses of her depths in the most inelegant but erotic manner. She took his breath away.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, making her smirk at using her title again for effect, "What a most ungainly way to present yourself at my home. Kindly raise yourself from my doorstep immediately."

His deep honeyed voice, a slight hint of humoured irony tinging it, made her smirk up at him, blowing some strands of hair out of her eyes. She replied, as languorously as she could, "I would be able to achieve that aim if a little assistance was forthcoming."

She saw a smile flick across his lips and she opened her own mouth and allowed her tongue subtely to come out and lick over it, knowing this was his little weakness. His eyes instantly moved to her mouth and he breathed in deeply before leisurely reaching out a hand to her. She took it, enjoying the smooth, firm skin of his fingers as they curled around her palm. He pulled her swiftly up to him and she was hurled against him, a breath forced out of her at the impact. They gazed at each other's faces, eyes searching out every pore, every hair, line, indentation. She remained gazing at his features, but deliberately not moving her head closer to his.

Slowly he started to walk backwards, firmly pulling her with him. Once inside, he pushed the door shut with his free hand and remained staring at her. The haughtiness he had presented on her arrival had melted and his face now exhibited a tenderness rarely seen on his features. Her belly melted. She could bare it no longer and reached up to unclasp his robes. They fell in a pool at his feet. His hands then moved to her shoulders, pulling her jacket down over them. It too tumbled to the floor. At last he lowered his lips to hers, nipping, rubbing ever so gently, while his fingers now unbuttoned her shirt, slowly, enjoying the desire building between them. So different to yesterday, she noted briefly.

She opened her mouth for him and felt his tongue slip in, tasting her wet warmth. She met it with hers, flicking, playing, breathing into him. Her hands were at his shirt and the many buttons which concealed him from her. She pushed him back while trying to undo them. He walked backwards towards the staircase, helping her with the buttons, all the while remaining clasped against her hot, urgent mouth. They had removed their upper clothing before they reached the bottom of the staircase.

She pulled away from him, and ran her fingers up his torso, feeling the muscles tense under her hand. _God, she loved his body,_ so smooth, so pale, like alabaster. She walked slowly around him, allowing her hand to explore languorously over his shoulders, to his back, where she studied the ripples as he shivered under her sensuous touch. She idly continued her journey, round to the other shoulder, her pressure just firm enough to elicit a hiss of desire from him. She smiled to herself, working her way round to his front again, her fingers falling from his shoulder down over his chest, just brushing a nipple as they went, making him tense with pleasure.

Then she took his hand and led him up the stairway. Once behind her, he reached up to the clasp on her skirt, undid it, and pulled the skirt roughly down. She stepped out of it, leaving it on the staircase. She tried to continue up but he held her back. She turned and looked down at him, the haughtiness now transferring itself to her as she stood above him. She looked sublime, towering over him, clad only in stockings, suspenders, and heels. She noticed the bulge in his trousers and smiled slyly down at him.

He hid the obvious lust in his features as best he could and maintaining his cool, knelt down on the step just below her. She knew what was coming and she reached her hand out to caress and stroke his face and hair. He locked eyes briefly with her before reaching out to move her knickers to the side and dipped his head down, sinking his mouth into her dripping core. She curled her fingers in his hair and, despite wanting to gaze down at the sight in front of her, could not help throwing her head back as the first jolt of pleasure ripped through her body. His tongue was buried deep in her, making dizzying circles in her passage and his thumb was at her clit, circling gently before rubbing firmly across it, making her gasp in delight.

He withdrew his tongue, sweeping up and encircling her clit before sucking hard on it. Hermione moaned as her belly clenched with the sensations he was evoking. He leant back long enough to breathe out, "Lie down ... down on the step ..._now_." She complied only too quickly and sank down, her hips poised on the edge of the lower landing, her legs bent out, feet resting a few steps down. He descended a few steps so as to be perfectly positioned to renew his ministrations, tearing down her knickers in the process. Gazing at her prostrate before him ignited his ardour yet more and he plunged his mouth back onto her, lapping ever upwards towards her electric bud once again. She felt his thumb enter her, questing urgently. She arched towards him, her fingers still curled in his hair, pushing him ever deeper into her very being. Just as she thought she could take no more, she felt something else, another insertion, but this time it took her by surprise as it was in an unexpected, deeply private place. He had put a finger up her arse.

Hermione's eyes shot open, not only at the shock of it, never had anything penetrated her there before, but also with the realisation that it merely heightened the extreme pleasure she was already experiencing. The slight wince of discomfort she had felt as he had first probed into that sacred place soon morphed into an exquisite feeling of fullness and delight. She looked down at him, and found he was looking up at her, a wicked grin on his face, before he lowered himself once more to her sex. She was now so close, her whole body alive and electric, tensed before the final fall. He moved his thumb and finger simultaneously, while sucking hard on her clit once more. It was her undoing and she burst, wave after wave of pleasure convulsing her body around his mouth and hand. She felt herself pulsing around his finger and knew he would too. She screamed into the large hallway, her rapturous cry reverberating around the cavernous space.

She lay back on the landing, panting heavily. "Oh god, oh god ... how did you do that ... _how did you do that?_" She could hardly form words. Her hand was still clasped tight in his hair, she could not bring herself to relinquish her hold on him.

He did not reply, merely looked at her with that deep glow in his eyes, taking in her life force and ecstasy. It never ceased to amaze him.

Slowly she relinquished her grasp on his hair and he straightened himself up and tried to lead her further up the stairs towards the bedroom. Her breathing had steadied but her body was still enervated, buzzing with life and lust. As he passed close to her she noticed his tented trousers; he was hard and urgent, having not yet satisfied himself. Her lips tingled and before they could reach the top landing she stopped him, pulling him into her for a passionate kiss, tasting herself on his lips. The awareness of his intimate tasting of her hit her and ignited her desire yet again. She reached desperately down to his belt, fumbling to undo it and then unbutton his trousers. They fell down, revealing him straining for release from his boxers. She knelt quickly, pulling the underwear down in the process. He stepped out of his clothes and kicked them haphazardly to the side.

She tried to give herself a moment to take in his magnificent beauty before her, but was so hungry for him that it was only brief. Moaning to herself, she opened her mouth and plunged down onto him, her tongue swirling around his head as it descended back to her throat. He threw his head back and hissed with the pleasure coursing from his cock to his whole body. She wanted to slow down, savour him, taste and tease him, as she had done before, but found herself unable to. She needed him as deep down her as possible, her mouth lusting after him as much as her vagina ever had.

She pulled back, allowing him to pop out briefly, a gasp sounding from her, before plunging back down, taking him yet deeper, sucking hard around the throbbing shaft. They both knew he would not last long, both wanted that release. There would be time for slow and deliberate love-making later. Now, they both knew what they wanted. She moved her head rapidly on him, sucking urgently, relaxing her throat and allowing him to sink further still. His tip scraped at the back of her throat and he groaned and clenched. He was there. She quickly pulled up, dragging her lips and tongue over him, then reversed the process, plunging tightly back down onto him until he hit her throat, then sucked hard. He tensed, then came violently, spasming into her mouth over and over, his moan of unbridled pleasure filling the hallway as hers had done before. She held him there for a while, tasting him viscous and salty on her tongue. He eventually slipped out of her and she slowly swallowed, his essence like nectar to her.

She lay back on the carpet in the hallway, her gasps coming hard and fast. Would she ever stop wanting him? Needing him? Her body refused to return to its normal state, such was his effect on her, she had never thought such desire and sexual energy possible. Her body seemed to be in a permanent state of arousal around him. As she lay on the floor she reached down, throwing off her shoes, then unhitching her stockings and rolling them down. Finally she wriggled out of her pants, flicking them randomly along the corridor. She could not yet move any further. He slumped down next to her, his breathing equally heavy. She looked across at his body, glowing in the candlelight. It was sublime. The fire still burned in her core. Their eyes locked and he gazed at her in wonder. She could still read lust in his eyes too and knew they were not going to make it to the bedroom.

As their breathing steadied, he reached across and caressed her breasts, his hand massaging the pliable mounds. Her eyes closed deliriously as she felt his fingers reach her nipples. He tweaked and pinched one, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. _Yes_. God, she loved that _so_ much. She arched herself up to meet his fingers, a moan escaping her. With that, he moved his hand to the other breast, repeating his attentions. The nipple quickly hardened and rose to a sharp point at his touch. She groaned in ecstasy as he pinched it hard, while his mouth found the other, rolling it against his tongue before his teeth found it and clenched down. A jolt of painful pleasure shot to her belly, causing her to jerk up uncontrollably.

The ache in her core throbbed agonisingly again, her insatiability astounding them both. He equally, was rock hard once more, only moments after coming explosively in her mouth. Her head thrashed from side to side and her moans could not be silenced. He reached over her with his leg, forcing hers apart and moving his rigid body between them. He leaned down to her, holding her head in his hands and forcing her delirious eyes to focus on him. He hissed at her, desire slurring his speech, "What do you want, witch? _Tell me what you want_."

She threw her body from side to side again, then arched up desperately towards his engorged erection, groaning incoherently at his delay.

"You know what I want, what I always want," she managed to moan out.

He whispered forcefully in her ear again, his voice tinged with icy lust, "I want you to say it. _I want to hear you tell me what you want me to do to your body."_

She could merely groan in response, the fire in her belly threatening to make her pass out with longing.

"_Say it."_ His voice was hard, insistent.

She cried out with frustration, then spoke, her words forced from her very centre. "I want your cock inside me, deep inside me ... You know it, _you fucking know it_ ... Now, god, please, I'm going to die. Don't make me wait any longer ... _Fuck me hard, NOW!"_ She screamed the last words out.

That was what he wanted and he complied instantly. Holding his bursting cock in his hand, he positioned himself quickly and he thrust into her desperately, filling her to the hilt. She cried out in fulfilment, her body forced back along the carpet.

She reached out and grabbed the banisters for leverage, preventing herself from moving back from his pounding thrusts. He pulled out, then sank even deeper into her, a groan pulled from his own throat at the tightness of her slick walls around him. He leaned over her, his hands on either side of her head, gazing into her eyes. He moved urgently, catching her clit with his thrusts, bringing her swiftly closer to her end.

Then suddenly he moaned and leant back, grabbing her ankles and lifting her legs up, placing one on each of his shoulders. He immediately plunged into her again, deeper than before, the new position eliciting new sensations in both of them. Hermione gasped as she felt him, hard and large inside her, filling her perfectly. She was so close and he moved strongly within her, her tight walls creating delicious friction for him. He was close to her spot deep inside and he brought his hand up, finding her clit once again.

It was all it took. The fire which had raged inside her since arriving once again burned cataclysmically and she spasmed ecstatically. Her body pulsed tightly around his cock and he too came explosively, shooting high up into her, over and over. His head fell back and he groaned into the vastness of his house, "_Hermione ..."_

She looked up at him, shocked at hearing her name, he so rarely spoke it, and had never done so at such a time before. Tears filled her eyes as her body recovered from the rapture he had given her. He came down gradually and lowered his head to look at her. His face glowed with sweat and his eyes were alive.

He could not hold himself up anymore. His elbows buckled and he dropped to lie just next to her, his member still buried in her warm depths.

They spoke not a word, but she reached her hand down to stroke his head, smoothing his hair away from his face. His arm lay across her, resting on her hip and he idly traced a circle over it with the tip of his finger. They did not think they could ever move again.

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**But I'm sure they will ...**

**Please R and R on the story so far ....!**

**x**


	23. Twenty Three: Surprised

**First update of the day - I promise to upload another chapter later too!**

**More big thank yous for the reviews.**

**I know a lot of you are concerned/curious as to how Hermione is going to sort it with Ron, and I assure you that I will address that issue soon, but for now we are still examining Lucius and Hermione's relationship as it develops. I love writing about the dynamics between them, and think it's important to establish the intensity of their feelings for each other. But after the next couple of chapters the plot moves along more swiftly - promise.**

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Twenty Three - Surprised

Eventually they became aware of the floor beneath them, hard and uncomfortable. Shaking themselves out of their sensual haze, they slowly turned to each other. Hermione looked at him and said, "Didn't quite make it to the bedroom, did we?"

He smiled briefly at her then, slipping reluctantly out of her, stood slowly up. For the second time that night, he reached down his hand to help her up. She stood shakily, such was her physical reaction to the unspeakable pleasure which had swept over her time and time again. He held her round the waist to steady her, and breathed, "Come along," into her ear. Together they walked blearily to the bedroom, the same room with the swan tapestry she had stayed in before, the significance of his Faberge present reinforced.

On arriving there, Hermione found a small table had been laid out with some food and drink, immaculately presented as ever. She smiled at the thoughtfulness of Lucius and the efficiency of Tibby, the house-elf. Slight shame crossed her consciousness. Had Tibby witnessed any of the goings-on in the hallway? It was likely she had. She turned to Lucius.

"Do you think Tibby saw ... any of that just now?"

He shrugged inconsequentially. "It matters not. You can be assured of her discretion, if that's what you are worried about."

"No, I just ... I may have discovered a lot about myself recently, but I don't think I'm an exhibitionist."

He studied her calmly, a look of amusement playing across his face, before continuing, "Do not let it worry you. Now, come and eat. I think we have built up an appetite."

She smiled at him, then sat opposite where he had taken a seat and they helped themselves to food hungrily.

They ate silently to start with, both staring at the other, their eyes alight with a spirit hitherto unseen.

Then her curiosity got the better of her and she spoke, "Our meeting yesterday ended strangely."

Silence for a moment. Then he responded. "Did you think so?"

She was surprised at his words. "Yes. Of course. Didn't you?"

"I told you before not to expect too much of me. Come, my dear, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent." The patronising drawl had returned and Hermione's temper was pricked. She glared up at him.

"I have my own life to lead. You cannot expect me to be beholden to you." She paused. "I don't believe you would want me if I was. You said it yourself. You want my fire, my passion." She looked at him, gauging his reaction.

He smiled briefly down at his plate, but did not respond. She continued.

"And I don't believe you would kill anyone now."

He raised his head to meet her eyes, a sudden coldness in them. She was slightly unnerved.

"As much as I acknowledge an act such as that would be most inconvenient at this point in time, I cannot promise anything. Do not forget who I am, Miss Granger. I told you I will disappoint you."

His words were icy, and his refusal to use her given name irked her, after all that had happened between them. Her heart pounded, but she steeled herself to continue. Despite her clear acknowledgement of the depth of her feelings for Lucius, she still had her integrity.

"If you lay a finger on Ron, I will personally ensure you end up in Azkaban for the rest of your life." She spoke quite calmly, amazing herself at her control.

He looked at her for the longest time, but it was without animosity, as could have been expected. If anything she detected a look of approval in his eyes. At length he broke his silence.

"I doubt very much it would be Mr Weasley who would suffer at my hands, despite my words of yesterday. I spoke rashly. I was angry and jealous. However, your loyalty to your friends is impressive. It is one of the things I admire in you." His voice too was calm and measured.

Hermione realised that they had been having the most extraordinary conversation in the most ordinary of circumstances and tones of voice. Despite the words that were spoken between them, she still found herself gazing at him with desire and admiration. His frank admittance of his jealousy and tacit reassurance that he would not hurt Ron touched her.

"You do not love him."

He did not look at her, and continued eating calmly. Once again, he had lit her touch paper and her eyes burned with anger. But almost immediately, she realised that her anger had been elicited by the truth of his words. She knew in her heart that he was right, and it was only now that she was able to admit it fully to herself. Her fury with him was quelled and she stared into the room, the realisation shocking her, but also a sudden, immense relief. She knew now that the task ahead of her, of leaving him, would be much easier.

"I love him as a friend."

"That is not enough. That is not complete love. As you well know."

His understanding of the emotion surprised her slightly, but she acknowledged the truth of his words.

"No." She was deep in thought. "I never did love him in that way. It was just ... convenient. I was young. I've changed. He hasn't."

There was silence between them for the longest while, as the thoughts sank in. She wanted to forget this conversation had happened and, although the atmosphere remained strangely calm, wanted to regain the pleasure that they had been feeling earlier. She spoke once again.

"You are right about things. You always seem to be right." She meant it in the light of their conversation, but knew also that a little flattery would tease his ego and smooth any ruffled feathers. She looked up at him; he was merely smiling at her in amusement. He looked exquisite across from her in the candlelight and she spoke almost unknowingly, "You are so beautiful."

He was taken aback at her sudden declaration, especially after what she had previously said. The paradox of this woman staggered him. He would never fully understand her, did not want or need to, that was part of her attraction. He stood and crossed to her, reaching down swiftly and capturing her mouth with his own, kissing her deeply before suddenly breaking off and sitting back down, silently.

Hermione felt yet another surge inside her at his sudden actions. Whatever was said between them, they could always rely on their constant and fervent passion to smooth away tensions and uncertainties.

They ended their meal with some strawberries and cream. Hermione felt his eyes on her mouth as she ate the strawberries, and she knew she was blushing at his sensuous scrutiny of her.

When they had finished they fell almost immediately into bed. They were already naked and they lay for what seemed like hours just touching, caressing, kissing, kissing endlessly.

Time passed and they became unaware of their separate identities. Their bodies melted into each other. Where did one end and the other begin? This gentle tactile exploration of each other was just as pleasurable in its own way as the cataclysmic orgasms which had shaken them earlier.

But eventually each caressed a little too ardently and stoked the latent fires in them both. Lucius gradually moved away from her mouth and travelled down her body, stopping at her breasts. He knew it was her undoing. His hot mouth once again quested over her, seeking out the tender point of flesh. On finding it, he closed around it, licking gently, flicking his tongue tenderly this time. She reached down to his head, pressing him down onto her, her head falling to the side with pleasure. He moved to the other breast, once again his tongue caressing and soothing the electric point. She moaned with uncontrollable desire for the umpteenth time that evening. How could she still want him? The reason was obvious when she glanced down and saw him jutting towards her, erect and magnificent once again.

He lowered himself again to her mouth and kissed her with an intense passion, his tongue assaulting hers. She reached behind him, pulling him down to her, her nails digging into the flesh on his back. He hissed into her, and although he revelled in the exquisite pain it elicited, he used the opportunity to teach her a lesson.

He reached up and removed her hands from his back, bringing them up and over her head. She didn't argue with him, and heard him mutter something under his breath. When she went to lower her arms again, she found she could not. She looked up, not understanding, and found her hands tied together and to the bed with a red silk ribbon. She turned to him in surprise and confusion. He merely smirked down at her. She fought against the bonds for a moment, but found they held fast. She glared up at him, and he leaned down towards her, his voice as arrogant and haughty as it ever had been, whispering in her ear, "Struggle all you want, you exquisite thing, it won't do you any good, although I have to say, it is a pleasure to watch."

Her glare intensified and she spat her words out, "You bastard. You surprised me. Bloody hell, let me go." She thrashed around, finding that her limited movement and awareness of his power over her was undeniably flaming her desire further. She felt a rush of wetness between her thighs and she groaned out into the room.

He laughed down at her. "Come, my dear, don't act so naive. You know there are far worse things I could do to you, which I'm sure you would gain much from." His words were sensual and deliberate, and she could not deny their validity. She was not naive, although had never experienced anything like this with Ron, and she acknowledged that what he was doing at the moment, was at the tame end of the spectrum.

He reached down with his hand to between her legs, finding her soaking wet as expected. His voice purred its most languid drawl. "You see, my beautiful mudblood, it can have its advantages after all."

She met his eyes with her own. He had used the term at last.

He looked down at her, a half-smile on his lips, appraising her reaction to his words, but lust burning fervently in them. She knew it would come eventually, only now it made her writhe for him even more. She unashamedly and openly realised that his use of the term had done nothing but turn her on. She reached her head up and met his mouth. They devoured each other hungrily. Hermione instinctively tried to reach down to hold him, but once again found she couldn't. This time, it merely sent a jolt of pleasure through her and she moaned around his mouth, struggling against her bonds. His fingers meanwhile were exploring and caressing. Three fingers were deep inside her, stroking, fluttering, searching for that magic spot. His thumb was at her clit, so close, rubbing exquisitely, sometimes hard, then withdrawing and soothing around it. It drove her mad and she raised her hips urgently off the bed towards his hand.

He didn't wait long this time and with one last look into her eyes, he raised himself up and moved to the apex of her thighs. He hesitated, knowing how frustrated she would be.

As predicted, she threw her head back, fighting deliriously against the bonds and pleaded with him. "Please, oh God ....why do you do this to me? Put your cock in me NOW, Lucius. I can't bear it anymore."

He laughed down at her slightly, but seeing her thrashing against her constraints and hearing her delicious words, he could contain himself no more and, lifting both her legs onto one of his shoulders, he thrust smoothly into her. She moaned at the sudden impalement and moved under him, unable to bring her hands down to push him further in.

The position they were in allowed him the deepest penetration and he pulled out then plunged in fully, propelling her up the bed. Her walls gripped him tightly and he hissed his pleasure out. She writhed under him, causing him to jolt with pleasure. "Fuck, witch, so tight ... _so fucking tight_ ..."

His words spurred her on and she wiggled her hips, urging him to move within her. He started to pick up his pace, thrusting rhythmically but desperately into her, filling her completely each time. They were both close and with a few final thrusts, as she writhed against her bonds, sending them both mad, they came together, crying out into the room, carried away with overwhelming pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, having to pull out from the position they were in. He lay next to her, gasping from exertion and ecstasy. He blearily reached up and undid the ribbon. She finally lowered her arms, finding they had gone slightly numb, although she had not realised this earlier. She looked at her wrists and surprisingly found deep red marks on them, she hadn't realised they had been so tight.

She let her head fall to the side to look at him. He was staring deep into her eyes again, a faint smile on his lips. She held his gaze and whispered, "Thank you." He smiled back and leaned in to kiss her gently, then pulling her towards him, they closed their eyes and fell asleep.

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**Please let me know what you think. x**

**More later today.**

**x**


	24. Twenty Four: Questions

**As promised, the next chapter of the day! Read 23 if you haven't already! Some interesting dialogue between people here ... **

**Oh by the way, I haven't said this for a while so here goes: despite trying really really hard, I STILL do not own anybody. So you guys who wanted to borrow Lucius for a while - sorry and very sadly - he 's not mine to lend out. (And anyway, even if he was, there is NO WAY I would share!!! Mwa ha ha ha ha!)**

**Thank you for the splendiferous reviews, especially the anonymous ones that I can't respond to.**

**x**

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Twenty Four - Questions

During the night they half woke several times and turned instinctively towards each other, their bodies merging into one, almost unnoticed until their mutual cries of ecstasy sounded through the darkened room. Then almost immediately, they would slip back into the deepest sleep, limbs intertwined, indistinguishable from each other. They could not imagine ever being apart.

The morning all too soon dawned, grey and oppressive. Hermione had an instinctive feel for waking when she needed, and opened her eyes reluctantly, aware that she would have to go to work. She could not continue taking days off.

She wondered if he was still lying next to her and turned. He was. He seemed to be asleep and she studied his features. They were completely relaxed, the fine lines around his mouth retaining none of the sardonic etching that had always before seemed to inhabit them. His skin was smooth in the thin morning light and his hair fell loosely around his neck. How could anyone so beautiful have ever been capable of such cruelty? As she voiced the question in her head, he opened his eyes slowly and met hers immediately. They remained staring at each other for a while, no particular emotion discernible on either of their faces.

Then he opened his mouth and spoke tenderly but smoothly, "Good morning."

She smiled back, and reached up a hand to smooth back some hairs from his face. "Hello," she breathed.

They continued to stare at each other. Hermione eventually spoke the words she knew neither of them wanted to hear. "I have to go to work now."

He said nothing, but a look of emptiness briefly took hold of his face.

She sighed deeply, stroking his cheek, then questioned suddenly, "What do you do all day?"

"Wait for you to return."

She smiled. "That's not good enough. I expect more. I can't stand idleness."

"Neither can I."

"So ...?"

Pause.

"Reassemble the fragments worth keeping."

She didn't take her eyes from his, and neither did he from hers. He continued quietly, "I am meeting Draco for lunch."

Hermione at last turned onto her back and looked up at the canopy. "Draco ..." She thought about the younger Malfoy, and how, in his time, he had hurt her more deeply than anything Bellatrix could have hurled at her. She had hated him completely, more so ever than his father, whom she had strangely thought little about during her time at school, other than what was expected. Could she ever find any compassion in her heart for his son? "I wonder what he would make of all this," she thought aloud.

"All what?"

"You and me."

"No one knows about our arrangement. I expect it to remain that way."

She turned to look at him. His clinical approach to their meetings hurt her. She swallowed hard. Were they to carry on like this indefinitely? What sort of relationship did they actually have? Could she even call it that? She felt her eyes stinging as the uncertainty and hopelessness of their "arrangement" hit her. What else could it be called?

She moved her head back up, trying to stop him from seeing her damp eyes. He broke the silence.

"What did you tell him to come here last night?" It was clear he meant Ron, although would not use his name.

"I told him I was visiting a friend in need."

"Hardly even a lie then?"

She turned to him again and asked seriously, "Are you in need, Lucius?"

He said nothing. She thought perhaps he would not respond. He was perfectly still, looking up at the canopy above them. Then he spoke, soft but clear. "Only of you."

He rolled his head over and met her eyes. The tears which had been welling up fell freely now. They reached for each other again, their lips meeting in the most tender but ardent kiss they had shared. He rolled towards her, she felt him rising quickly and urgently against her leg and the sensation elicited a rush of moisture from her. He swiftly climbed onto her, placing himself carefully, then thrust in deeply, his size making her gasp at its sudden emplacement inside her. At first he moved gently, but slowly gathered pace, his head only inches above hers, his eyes burning into hers. She daren't even blink for fear of breaking the connection. Her walls gripped him and his steady strokes fuelled the delicious tension within her core. It took only a few more thrusts for them to come together, their eyes transmitting the tender pleasure to their souls.

She held him close, tears still falling. "I can't cope without you inside me. It hurts too much. I think I must be going mad."

"You will come back tonight."

"Yes."

They lay together for a while longer, until Hermione felt the pressing weight of responsibility on her conscience. She got up and threw a silk robe around her, heading for the bathroom. He watched her every move.

On reaching the door, she paused and looked back at him. "I will leave him. It will be soon."

He did not respond and his face was unreadable. She wanted his reassurance, his positive acknowledgement of her declaration. None was forthcoming and she slipped out to the bathroom, unnerved slightly.

When she returned, he was still in bed, in much the same position as when she had left him. She dressed in some of the many clothes which kept appearing in the wardrobe, some from eminent muggle designers. He said nothing as he watched her dress, and she found his lack of communication exasperating. She could not help herself. "I said I would leave him soon."

"Yes," came the brief reply.

Her frustration increased. "Yes, you heard me or yes, you know I will leave him?"

Silence. He sighed, "Both."

She had to press him. "And how do you feel about that?"

"Your leaving Mr Weasley is not dependent on me."

"How do you mean?"

"Your relationship had run its course before I came along. In any case, it matters not to me whether you are with him or not."

His words stung her. His extreme reaction to Ron had been so full of anger last time, that this sudden switch to apparent indifference came as a complete shock. She stood, glaring down at him with undisguised and bitter disappointment as he lay leisurely before her. "That's hardly what you said two days ago!"

"I told you. I was angry after seeing Shacklebolt. I reacted impulsively and it served a purpose at the time. Things are clearer now." He spoke quite calmly and dispassionately, angering her even more.

"I _served a purpose_ did I? And now, what? You don't care? You've claimed me as your own and as long as I'm there to fuck when you want nothing else matters? Is that it? _Is that it, Lucius_? I'm just your little _mudblood whore_?" She shouted the last words out in fury, hot angry tears streaming down her face. She turned to go, but before she could take two steps across the room he was out of bed and had grabbed her forcefully by the arm, spinning her round against him. His eyes were burning and he forced her to look at him.

"I mean," he hissed low, his face almost touching hers, "that that man ... _that boy_ ... will never hold any sway over how we lead our lives. _No one else matters_. No one else can ever touch what we have. We are so far beyond anything else ... _anything else_ ... that his existence to us is irrelevant. Nothing can change what we have between us, Hermione. _Nothing_."

She looked up at him, her eyes still flooded with tears. He leant down and captured her damp lips brutally in his, searing her with his force. She returned his passion, opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to draw hers into a violent dance. When finally they broke away, she rested her head on his shoulder, and sobbed onto his smooth bare skin, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He said nothing, but stroked her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head, holding her close to him.

After what seemed an age, she suddenly gasped and pulled away. "Oh God, what time is it? I must go. God, I must go, Lucius. I'll be here tonight. When can I come?"

He smiled slightly down at her, amused and enchanted by her extreme emotions, something he was so unused to.

"I will be back by three. Come as soon as you can after that."

"Yes, yes, my darling, my darling, I'll be here soon, soon." She showered him in little kisses, on his face, his chest, his neck. "God, I must go now. I can't leave you. God, I can't leave you."

He took her arms gently but firmly in his hands and pushed her back from him, looking her sternly in the eyes. "Go."

She reached up for a final kiss, with which he could only oblige passionately, and then she finally broke fully away and hurried out of the room, not glancing back. She ran outside and disapparated quickly before she changed her mind.

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The morning at work passed slowly but predictably. At lunchtime, Hermione sent an owl to Ron, informing him that her friend needed her to stay another night. Then she went to her usual Muggle cafe, wishing Lucius could be with her. She read the paper to distract her from missing him, and noticed a recital taking place that Friday. A thought occurred to her. After she had eaten, she found a Muggle telephone box (it struck her that the Muggle mobile phone was actually quite a useful invention, and perhaps she should carry the one her parents had bought her around more), and phoned up the venue for two tickets.

Delighted with her actions she walked back to the Ministry even happier than ever. When she got back to her office, Ormus nearly immediately poked his head round her door and asked, "Hermione, could I have a word in my office a moment?"

"Yes," she breezed, "I'll be right there."

On entering his office, he told her to shut the door behind her and sit down. Hermione sensed unease as she obliged.

He sat at his desk, not looking at her, spinning slightly in his chair.

"Umm, I don't quite know how to say this. It's just I've noticed ... and some other people have too ... and I'm just a bit worried for you, that's all ... "

Hermione sensed danger and fixed her face into an immovable expression, ready for whatever was to come.

"Hermione, are you developing inappropriate feelings for Lucius Malfoy?"

She felt as if her stomach had been turned upside down, but she managed to remain outwardly as implacable as ever. She replied, as honestly indignant as she could, "Excuse me?"

Snipworth exhaled nervously, "Uhh, this is really awkward for me, Hermione, but I felt I should ask. I can only say that your relationship with Malfoy must remain strictly professional at all times, or you may get seriously hurt."

Hermione had thought quickly of how to react and played the part of insulted professional brilliantly. "Ormus! I thought you knew me better than that. I have worked incredibly hard with Mr Malfoy, as requested by Kingsley. How dare you reduce all my efforts to the banality of me having "inappropriate feelings" for him!? It has taken me a long time to establish trust between us, and I have succeeded through care and attention. That has meant going to Muggle events and places, and having quite long discussions about his interests. At all times we have remained careful and utterly professional. He wants this to succeed as much as I do, and insinuations such as that are going to undo all the good work both of us have achieved. Frankly, I am insulted that you have so little knowledge or awareness of the way I work. You know I do nothing by halves, but to imply that ..." She broke off and stood up, arms folded, looking down at him suitably bitterly. It was an impressive performance.

Ormus looked suitably chastened and embarrassed, and not a little relieved. He cleared his throat nervously, unable to look up at the fearsome witch standing before him. "Yes ... well ... I'm sorry, Hermione ... I obviously got the wrong end of the stick. You have, I admit, worked very hard on this case, and I thank you for that. Sorry, I was just worried about you, that's all."

"I am quite capable of looking after myself, as I thought you knew."

"Yes ... you may go now ... sorry again."

Hermione immediately left and returned to her own office where she shut the door quickly behind her. Her breathing quickened and the turmoil of emotions she had managed to hold at bay came flooding out. She gasped for breath and leant over, supporting herself on her knees. God, that was close. Had he bought her explanation? It seemed as if he had. Had their closeness been that noticeable? She realised how bold she had been, parading him next to her in Muggle clothes through the Ministry, defending him passionately to Kingsley, and she admitted that her passion for him had blinded her somewhat to other people's impressions.

She went and sat at her desk and cleared her head. Ormus' words had come as a shock, but as she recovered from them, she realised that she was feeling remarkably calm. Her feelings for Ron, Lucius' declaration before she had left and now her boss's observations all combined to steady her into a sudden dawning of clarity. _She did not care what people thought_. She wanted him so much, knew he wanted her so much, that she wondered what it would matter if people knew. They had never discussed a future, but knew how they could not contemplate parting. It would be a strange relationship, it would be controversial, it would alienate a lot of people, but it would be them. If they were to have a future together, they would have reveal it publically at some point.

She felt awkward that she had lied so successfully to Ormus, almost feeling that she should go back and tell him the truth, but quickly dismissed that foolish idea.

She continued her work, her loyalty and desire for Lucius burning fiercely inside. She felt his absence achingly, and longed for him to complete her yet again. She worked so hard that by quarter past three she had completed all the tasks she had set herself for the day. She popped her head out and spoke to Priscilla, "I've done everything needed for today and have some things to sort out out of the office. I'm off for the day." Priscilla smiled back at her in acknowledgement.

Hermione gathered her things, walked to a quiet corner of the department and disapparated, a familiar tingle spreading rapidly through her body.

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**This chapter wasn't as steamy as I recalled. Will make up for that next time! (and then some ...)**

**x**


	25. Twenty Five: Surrender

**Right, I'm a bit nervous about this one. Let's just say, their relationship deepens ...**

**Please see it in the context of their relationship and how completely they need to inhabit each other. It is highly significant that Hermione will do this with Lucius. However, be warned ...**

**Thanks again for the reviews. I know it can be tricky to comment on lemons, but if you could write something, I would greatly appreciate it. Feel free to PM me if you'd rather.**

**I will update later today. Believe me when I say there is a lot of plot coming up soon, although I admit it probably doesn't seem like it at the moment! Stick with it - I hope that what's to come in the next few chapters will be rewarding and satisfying. The next chapter (26) is very tender, I really enjoyed writing it ... but, until then ...**

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Twenty Five – Surrender

She landed slightly more elegantly on his doorstep this time. The door was shut fast; she knew he wasn't sure when to expect her. She rang the bell, which sounded sonorously inside.

Tibby answered, and as much as the elf's open face looking up at her was endearing, Hermione immediately felt a pang of disappointment that it wasn't Lucius at the door. She greeted the elf. "Hello, Tibby. Is your master ..."

She didn't need to finish the sentence; he appeared in the hallway behind the elf almost immediately, speaking swiftly, "Thank you, Tibby. You may go." Hermione noticed a slight smile up at her as the elf quickly disappeared into the recesses of the house.

Lucius was at her before she had even stepped over the threshold. They fell upon each other, as they had done the day before and Hermione briefly wondered if they would repeat the shedding of clothes and exploration of their bodies on the stairs and landing again. But before she could form a proper thought on the matter she felt him bend slightly and her legs were taken out from under her. Once again, he had picked her up lightly in his arms and was now carrying her over to the stairs and up, up towards the bedroom.

Once inside, he magicked their clothes off quickly and they disappeared into each other's bodies as if they had been parted for months, not hours. Their love making was tender and surprisingly gentle, as it had been that morning, although Hermione noticed with lust and pleasure how once again he had placed a finger, or was it two, deep inside that most private place. It thrilled and excited her and bonded them together more than ever, and when the pleasure broke, it was ever more intense.

As they lay afterwards, him still buried deep inside her, she told him about her encounter with her boss.

"Snipworth called me in today and asked me if I was ... developing 'inappropriate' feelings for you."

He remained staring straight up, stroking her arm. "And what did you say?"

"I lied, quite convincingly actually."

"Why did you choose to do that?" He was simply curious.

"He surprised me. I wouldn't have said anything, you know that. I needed to talk to you about it anyway. You told me earlier that you didn't want anyone to know."

"At the moment, things would become rather too complicated. Let us remain unknown to the rest of the world."

"Your dirty little secret?" she wasn't angry as she had been before, but slightly disappointed that he clearly did not want to move on.

He rolled over and looked down at her, pressing his body into hers. "My delicious little secret." Their eyes pierced each other. She forgave him instantly. For now, she had no wish to break the spell between them by confronting him on the matter. It seemed at that moment, that as long as they could be together, she didn't really care how.

She inhaled deeply. His aroma, that smell which had so intoxicated her right from the start, filled her senses strongly and she threw her head back, moaning with longing. He leant down and assaulted her mouth, a new passion firing him again. His resilience, and hers, constantly staggered her. He had slipped out of her, but she could feel him growing hard against her belly again. God, she loved his cock, so rigid, firm, large.

She wriggled under and down from him, until she reached it, then let her tongue gently come out and touch the tip, making him jerk erratically. She licked slowly around the head, then up into the slit, tasting their combined juices of before. He suddenly groaned and pushed down hard, forcing himself deep down her mouth to her throat. It was a strange sensation, one that with anyone else would have been threatening and uncomfortable, but she merely moaned around his rock hard member, making him thrust further down into her. She could hardly breathe, but relished his power over her at that point and felt a gush of wetness flooding between her legs.

He groaned deeply as she took him hard down her throat, but then pulled gradually back, allowing her a rush of oxygen. She gasped it in, filling her lungs, but almost immediately needed him back there and sought him out with her lips. He had moved away and had grabbed her firmly on the hips, spinning her around forcefully onto her knees before him. She was almost delirious with lust and her desperate moans for him rocketed to his groin.

He positioned himself at her soaking entrance, when suddenly she moved away from him, down, her beautiful backside writhing before him. He was confused and tried again, placing the head of his throbbing cock at the opening of her vagina once more. Again, she lowered herself down slightly, so that he found himself positioned instead at her other tight, puckered hole, the entrance to that most tender place.

He could not believe what she was doing and tensed, his body questioning her actions. She sensed his query and turned her head slightly towards him, her voice low and urgent. "Please ... you know what I want ... what I need ... please." She squirmed in front of him, sending an immediate rush of blood to his already rock-hard penis. He hesitated, aware of how his size would cause her considerable pain, unsure even if she could take him.

Again her voice came to him, ever more desperate, "Please, fuck me there ... God, I need it now!"

She was so sublime and assured beneath him, that he could only comply. Summoning his wand, he muttered a spell and a bottle of lube appeared next to him. He smothered himself in it and swathed as much around her star-like entrance as he could.

She thrust herself back to him urgently and he could control himself no more.

Holding her left hip firmly, he carefully placed his tip at the spot and squeezed forward. There was considerable resistance, but her tightness soon relaxed and he pushed his head firmly in. He was immediately squeezed more tightly than he knew possible and the deepest groan was heaved from him.

Hermione felt a shaft of pain shoot into her, but she registered it merely as the most profound desire she had ever known, a groan to rival his escaping her.

He hesitated, knowing how much this must hurt her, but looking down at the exquisite creature impaled on him, so trusting, so subservient, he knew he could not hold himself back. But just as he prepared to move forward again, she herself pushed back onto him, propelling him further into her, past her tight ring of resistance. A primeval sound filled the room, which he vaguely recognised as their combined moans of sublime ecstasy.

She was breathing heavily. It was as if all her senses and nerves had moved to that one part of her body, never had she known such _feeling_. Despite the pain of his huge member tearing into her, she gasped for more, was hungry for more.

"Please ... more ... I need you harder, deeper ...I need you to possess me, complete me."

This was too much for Lucius and he immediately thrust hard, into the hilt, filling her completely.

Hermione cried out with the sharp exquisite agony of it and Lucius' head fell back, his vision blurring with delirious pleasure.

He dragged his head back to gaze down at himself, buried in her most sacred place. He had never felt so surrounded, so embedded. The pleasure was unimaginable, but equalled by his emotional response of knowing she had given herself to him so absolutely. Her complete surrender to him filled him with utter devotion to her. This realisation caused the deepest sound to well up out of him, infusing the room with an even more heady sensuality. His head fell back and he pulsed within her, eliciting another moan from her.

He focused on the task once again, pulling out nearly completely, then smoothly but firmly, plunging into her again, the sublime tightness of her around him sending him close. He knew he could not last much longer. He moved regularly now, pistoning in and out, sending them both towards delirium.

For Hermione, the shooting but delicious pain she had experienced had by now subsided into a burning throb, all her being focused on his iron cock as it plunged along her. She knew she would not have a conventional orgasm this way, but the sublime feeling of completion and her inflamed nerves transcended all else. Never had she experienced such fulfilment or euphoria.

He thrust once, twice again, then he was undone. He grasped her hips violently and spasmed, spurting hot shoots desperately within her. She felt him erupting into her and she shuddered with the sensations it brought from her. They were fused, welded together by fire and ice.

Afterwards, neither moved, reluctant to break the electric atmosphere between them.

But he knew he could not stay like that forever and slowly lowered himself to lie next to her, careful not to slip out of her. She moved in towards him so they were spooned, nestled, cocooned together, the only thing existing their bodies and souls, melted into one.

As they lay in silence, apart from their deep panting breaths, she had no choice but to speak the truth, so clear to her now. She said it simply and softly, pressed against him, his heart beating against her back. "I love you."

He remained silent, but did not move. She lowered her eyes, satisfied at least that he had not been angered. Then she felt a breath on her ear. He leant into her and pressed his lips gently onto her skin, at the tender join of ear and jaw. Then he lay back down, his hand resting on her hip.

She smiled secretly to herself. It was more than she could have hoped to expect. She had never been so satisfied. With that, they both fell into the deepest dreamless sleep, fused together, body, mind and soul; a sleep of complete and utter contentment.

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**At least one of them's said it ...**

**Please let me know what you think, don't mind what that is!**

**x**


	26. Twenty Six: Food

**Next chapter, as promised.**

**I really enjoyed writing this one. Hopefully it has a bit of humour, tender exchanges and a revelation (maybe not the one you're thinking, though ... sorry!)**

**Thank you for the reviews, especially regarding that last chapter! Please let me know what you think of this one - I'm curious!**

**Enjoy!**

**x**

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Twenty Six - Food

They woke a few hours later. It was now dark outside. They lay silently, still entwined close together. Hermione became aware of a dull throbbing ache where he had penetrated her, but revelled in it. It only reminded her of his presence and her constant desire for him.

She turned over and looked at him. He was awake, his grey eyes flaming in the dim light. She kissed him gently on the lips. He smiled at her, his face so placid and tender he was hardly recognisable as the same person who had tormented her all those years ago. His hand leisurely stroked along her hips, up her waist and over the sensual curve of her torso and breasts. He asked languidly, "Do you want something to eat?"

Hermione giggled slightly. Their life together seemed to consist of nothing more than eating and sex, not that she was complaining. However, she realised that she was in fact very hungry. "Hmm ... why not?"

He sat up and moved his legs out of the bed, then sank down again suddenly. "Shit," he mumbled. "It's late. Tibby's not working anymore."

"Oh my God, Mr Malfoy!" Hermione gasped in mock horror. "Does that mean you're going to have to get your own food!?"

He turned towards her, his eyebrow raised in amused disapproval of her sarcasm. She couldn't suppress a snigger. Then suddenly he reached over and tickled her mercilessly. She squirmed and wriggled beneath his pliant fingers, trying to escape the hopeless tormented euphoria they elicited. Her laughter pealed around the room, mingling with her joyous screams ordering him to stop.

Only when his ears had feasted on her life-enhancing mirth did he comply, reaching down and instead planting gentle kisses on the flesh he had just so desperately assaulted. She stroked his hair, breathing hard, occasional little titters still escaping her.

Slowly he raised himself onto his elbows and looked at her morosely. "I suppose I can find something."

She studied him curiously. He really didn't have a clue. She was galvanised. Leaping out of bed and grabbing her robe, she said to him, "Come on! I'll see what I can do. I haven't seen the kitchen of this place yet."

"Neither have I," he muttered only half-jokingly under his breath.

She gasped in exaggerated shock and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, then, we'd better do our best to remedy the situation."

He raised himself elegantly off the bed, Hermione still looking longingly at his long legs, sculpted back and firm buttocks. God, he was fine and he was hers. Her face flushed at the knowledge of it. He threw on his night robes and headed before her out of the door, inclining his head slightly for her to follow.

They reached the kitchen. Hermione felt her mouth fall open at the sight of it. She had only ever seen kitchens like this in the most elegant National Trust properties. It was vast. A huge wooden table sat in the centre, but even that was dwarfed in the enormous chamber. Copper pots and pans of all sizes hung abundantly from hooks and beams in the vaulted ceiling. Marble worktops ran along the walls, and jars and pots stood, labelled with all manner of herbs, spices and ingredients. Deep wooden drawers and cupboards with brass handles took up the space below the worktops, and there were nearly as many above them on the walls. It was staggering. At the far end of the kitchen stood a vast fireplace, with a long spit before it. Hermione wondered about the feasts and celebrations which had been prepared here over the centuries. Surely most of them had been happy, joyous occasions, despite the chequered history of the family?

After recovering from her astonishment, she stood, hands on hips once again. Lucius looked out of place in the space, not sure what to do or where to turn. She spoke plainly, "You do realise we can only roast a fatted calf in this room, don't you?"

She half-thought he believed her, such was the look of awkwardness on his face. It was such an unusual expression on his features that she wanted to rush over and smother him with kisses, but her hunger and humour got the better of him. She laughed out loud again. "I'm only joking. There's a conventional stove over there, and ...my God! ... you've even got a microwave, not that we need that!"

With that she bustled past him and opened some cupboards. She found eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, a large refridgerator supplied with anything she could need. "I'll make you an omelette. I hope that will suffice?" she asked cheekily. He walked over and slapped her arse, making her jump.

He leaned over to her. "Be good," he drawled languidly in her ear, before stepping back and letting her get on with her cooking. She smiled to herself, his words tingling her skin as much as his hand had.

He found a bottle and a couple of glasses and poured them both a glass of red wine, placing one in front of her. Then he sat down in a chair by the table and gazed intently at her every move.

"You know where the booze is then?" she asked teasingly.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, my dear. You really should try to avoid it," he replied sardonically, a smirk ghosting his features.

"Ah well, you see ... I learnt from a master."

She was completely happy, and strangely at home in this huge kitchen. It simply needed a living presence to allow it to breathe. The vast space seemed to telescope in around her as she cooked, and the many pots, pans and implements gave it an almost cosy quirkiness.

"You could lay the table," she suggested, her back still turned to him, curious how he would react. He did not.

She looked over her shoulder at him in expectation. His face was impassive, but when she caught his eye, he drawled, "I think you know the magic word by now."

She smiled, resisting, then teased, "I think you'll find that I know quite a few magic words, Mr. Malfoy."

"You know the one I mean," he purred.

She put down her whisk and walked slowly over to him, fixing him with her eyes. When she reached him, she leant down, placing her hands on his knees. She licked her lips slightly, seeing his eyes flick to them, then said in her most sensual drawl, accentuating each syllable lasciviously, "P-l-l-e-a-s-s-s-e ..."

Then immediately she turned away from him and walked back to the stove, continuing her cooking. She didn't give herself time to see his reaction, but could guess the effect she had had on him.

Eventually she heard a slight moan behind her and he raised himself from his chair. He sounded as if he had got up rather awkwardly and she guessed there might have been a slight impediment between his legs. She smiled to herself, luxuriating in her power over him, however trivial an incident it was.

She could hear the sound of various drawers being opened; he was obviously searching for the right one. It took a long time. Finally she heard the rattle of cutlery. Objects were placed on the table before he sat down again. Hermione reached for two plates, which she found much more rapidly than he had found the cutlery.

She divided the large omelette she had made in half and put the two parts on the plates, then crossed to him and put them down in front of them. He looked pleasingly down at his food then up at her, but said nothing. She did not expect it.

They ate hungrily and silently, although there was no awkwardness between them. They had both realised long before that they were just as content in each other's presence when quiet as when discussing the deepest secrets of their hearts.

He finished his omelette quickly and with obvious relish, Hermione noted. She resisted asking him what he thought of it, but was rewarded anyway when he placed his knife and fork on an empty plate and said simply, "Thank you. That was very fine."

She allowed herself a slight smile up at him. He was looking at her. She finished her food, then stood up quickly. She looked down at him, noting the look of bewilderment on his face. "You can do the washing up." Then she turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone in the vast space with several dirty plates and pans.

Hermione went and sat in the sitting room he had taken her to that first night she had come to the manor. She realised in amazement that it was less than a week ago. So much had happened between them in that time. The house no longer held any terror for her, although the door to the drawing room remained firmly sealed.

She wondered when he would join her, and worried briefly that he may have taken offence and would not return to her at all. She needn't have worried as, after a respectable time, she heard footsteps behind her and he came around the sofa and sat next to her. He breathed out deeply, a glass of whisky in his hand. "That was a novel experience."

"Like they say, there's always a first time."

"Hmm ..." he murmured. "Like they also say, one should try everything _once_."

She smiled up at him, and was pleased to see a smirk playing around his lips. He sat down next to her and raised the glass towards his lips, but before he reached them he stopped and offered her some instead. She took a little, but grimaced as the liquid burned her throat. She had never been a fan of whisky. "Thanks, but I'm really not keen."

She lay against his shoulder, watching the fire dying in the hearth, feeling his steady breathing beneath her. "How did your lunch with Draco go?"

"Fine."

She was unsure whether he wished to continue the discussion of his son. Her usual curiosity and bravado got the better of her however and she persisted. "Where did you go?"

" 'The Flaming Wand'. It was quiet today. Very nice scallops."

Again she pushed. "And how is Draco?"

He paused. She felt a slight hitch in his breath. "Very well."

His brief responses did not deter her, and she sensed that despite his short answers, he was not unwilling to talk about it.

"How is his job going?"

"He finds it rewarding. He is respected amongst his colleagues and seems to be pulling his weight."

"He wants your approval. I hope you gave it to him."

Silence for a while. "Yes ... I hope I did too."

"Does he have someone at the moment?"

"If by that you mean a female someone, then, yes, I believe he does, although I know nothing about her. I have never met her and do not even know her name. I doubt she will last long. They never do."

"Why do you think that is?"

He sighed slightly. "The wrong girl ... He is like his father - he has rather demanding expectations. I should imagine he is hard to tolerate and that they, equally, bore him all too soon."

"That's a shame. I hope he is able to find someone. I'm sure it would do him a lot of good."

"Don't patronise my son," he drawled, a slight cold edge entering his voice.

She realised she shouldn't have spoken like that. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I suppose I feel guilty that I've ..." she stopped suddenly.

He turned his head and looked down at her. "You've what?"

She hesitated before continuing, "Got you."

He said nothing, but she felt his arm tighten slightly around her.

They remained still and silent for a while longer until his voice suddenly spoke clearly and simply. "My divorce came through today."

She stiffened in surprise. She hadn't even realised that he and his wife were officially divorcing. She had never presumed to ask directly about their separation. She wasn't quite sure how to feel or react.

"Oh ... I see." Their intense intimacy over the last few days suddenly seemed curiously distasteful. Had he been thinking about his divorce at those times? His next words answered her question.

"I had forgotten it was today until now. I didn't even mention it to Draco. I could only think of you returning here tonight. Do you remember our second meeting at your office? I had to leave suddenly to see my solicitor to sort it all through. I hated leaving you."

She remembered all too well the time he had suddenly departed from her office, and the despair and concern that she had felt. It was good to know he had had such a genuine reason, and she felt relief that his ex-wife had not entered his thoughts while with her earlier.

But then her usual sense of concern kicked in. His marriage to a woman whom he had shared a life with for over twenty years, the mother of his son, the woman with whom he had gone through so many dangerous times; it was over. Today. She looked up into his unreadable face. "Are you alright?"

There was a long a pause. "Yes." He spoke simply and genuinely, almost as if he realised it for the first time. Then he turned and met her gaze. "I've got you."

He slowly reached down, and met her lips with his own gently. She once again felt the tears welling up in her eyes. He reluctantly broke away, took her hand in his and led her carefully upstairs to their bedroom.

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**So he's a free man ... I reckon it's about time Hermione sorted herself out now.**

**x**


	27. Twenty Seven: Disclosure

**So, the time has come for Hermione to sort her life out, but not before a rather nice goodbye from Lucius first ...**

**Thanks so much for the reviews and comments. I still own nobody, much to my despair.**

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Twenty Seven - Disclosure

The night passed once again in a haze of deepest slumber and dreamlike questing of each other's bodies. They brought each other to the strongest climaxes over and over, almost unaware of their consciousness. It was such a sublime rapture, but almost second nature to them now.

Hermione dreaded the morning coming. She had spent two nights away from Ron now, with little explanation. Even though she knew their relationship would end, she owed him, at the very least, the courtesy of a dialogue, as one of her dearest friends. She would have to return today, and realised with agony and dread that she would tell him tonight. She could not bear the charade any longer. It was becoming increasingly difficult to make up convincing lies. She doubted very much he believed her last one.

She glanced at the clock. It was later than she had thought, and she remembered she had an early meeting. Lucius' arm hung over her belly, pinning her down with its deliciously firm, smooth weight. It was torture to move, but she needed to urgently. She tried to lift his arm up carefully without disturbing him, but he merely groaned reproachfully and pulled it in more tightly around her. Hermione's head fell back on the pillow with a sigh, but she smiled at his gesture.

Turning her head towards him she whispered his name. "Lucius ... _Lucius_ ... I have to go. They're expecting me at a meeting. It's quite late."

He breathed in deeply and slowly opened his eyes. "You really are far too dedicated, my dear," he replied lazily.

She smirked. "I thought you liked that about me."

"Hmm ... generally ... but not when I want to fuck you senseless until lunch."

His course words, spoken with such smooth silkiness, made her blush, and she turned her head away from him, a slight embarrassed giggle escaping her.

He raised himself up slightly. "What, Miss Granger? Is that a certain coyness I detect? Now now, that won't do at all."

With that he moved down her body, his hot open mouth exploring her skin, instantly alive under his touch, the anxiety in her mind vanquished for now. He soon found her nipple, and she groaned loudly as his tongue toyed with it, flicking and swirling until it stood to attention, a point of sheer electric sensation. His hand reached over for the other, rolling and tweaking it in his fingers and thumb. God, she loved this, and he knew it. He continued for some time, while fiery trails of pleasure shot from her breasts to her belly, the apex of her thighs soaked with desire. Just when she thought she could bear him on her nipples no more, his fingers squeezed and his teeth bit down. She screamed in delicious agony, the pain registering as deep, deep pleasure in her core.

She brought her hands up to his head and gently pushed him down further, desperate for relief from the burning throb between her legs. He humoured her, aware that time was limited. His tongue quickly found her clit, and she groaned with the sudden delight of it. He lapped eagerly at her, darting in to taste around her walls, then licking firmly up to her tight bud, circling and sucking it desperately. His thumb pushed deep into her vagina, while two fingers were thrust urgently up her arse. She clenched slightly with discomfort, the tenderness of yesterday still there, but her lust for him soon changed the feeling to satisfying fullness, and she squirmed against him.

Her insides burned and she felt the tension building inside her. Arching off the bed, she moaned out loud but he responded by drawing himself away from her fully. Her eyes darted open in surprise, desperate for some part of him to be replaced there. "Oh God ... fuck, Lucius ... I need to come ... please ... _want you..."_

Her desperation spurred her up onto her knees. She knew he would have entered her almost immediately, but she was ahead of him. He too was kneeling and she grabbed onto his shoulders, briefly pausing to lick up his torso, before pushing him over, so that his head was down at the foot of the bed. He was huge and hard, and she gasped with longing as he jutted up off the bed. She could wait no longer and quickly lifting her leg over him, placed herself just over his tip. Now it was his turn to moan in undisguised lust, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sight of the witch placed so tantalisingly over him, her perfect breasts swaying in the dim morning light. He did not have to wait long, as she pushed herself down onto him, as slowly as she could manage. It was exquisite for him and he grabbed her hips, digging his fingers into the pale flesh, a groan forcing its way from his throat.

Hermione threw her head back, her mouth falling open with the shock of his enormous size stretching her. Even now, it surprised her every time. She sat on him, feeling him fully inside her, not moving for a while. Soon, however, they were both desperate for friction and she moved leisurely back up again, feeling him pulse with pleasure within her. He groaned yet again, it was too much. "Fuck ... move witch ... faster ... _faster_ ... you drive me insane ..."

His words made her centre twist, and she had no choice but to humour him, her own desperate longing for release driving her on. She started to move on him, up and down, faster and faster. Her breathing became rapid and urgent, her breasts bouncing deliciously before him as she rose and fell. She had positioned herself perfectly, and his head found her g-spot over and over as he was propelled into her. She felt the wave start to crash inside her. She came, crying loudly into the room, "Oh my god, oh my god, Lucius ... so good ... you're so good!" The sight and sound of her above him and her hot wetness pulsing tightly around him was the end. His entire body tensed and convulsed and he came violently, erupting desperately up into her, her name torn from his lips in ecstatic possession, "Hermione ... _fuck ... Hermione!"_

Her body collapsed slackly onto him, heavy and slick with sweat. She felt as if all her bones had melted and wondered if she would ever be able to move again. She breathed deeply over him, gasping in air. His hands came up and fell onto her waist, his fingers pressing surprisingly hard into her flesh. Still it thrilled her. She would never get enough of him.

They said nothing, and as Hermione's mind slowly refocused on the room around her, she suddenly became aware of the rapid passage of time. "Oh God," she breathed into his chest. "I'll be late."

He replied languorously, "You had better go then." But still his strong hands held her tight and neither moved an inch.

"Yes."

Several minutes passed. They remained motionless.

Then finally, with the deepest groan of agony, Hermione dragged herself up off his chest, pushing her hands into his torso, her nails digging in slightly. He hissed a breath out, his eyes rolling back in his head. When at last she raised herself up and off him, he moaned softly with her loss. It was such a tender sound of longing that she almost wept. She knew that if she hesitated now she would be unable to leave and hurried to the bathroom, not looking behind her.

She showered and dressed quickly. He had hardly moved from his position on the bed, and studied her as she brushed her hair in the mirror. "You haven't had breakfast."

"I'll grab something at the Ministry." Then suddenly she remembered, and spun round to him. "Oh God, how could I forget?" She hurried over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I've got two tickets for a recital tomorrow night."

He raised his eyebrows quizzically and a little cynically. "What sort of recital?"

"You'll have to wait and see," she smirked. "I think it'll be worth it." She paused. His hand reached out and brushed up and down her arm, lighting her nerves yet again. She focused hard. "I can't come tonight."

"I thought not."

"I'm going to tell him it's over."

Silence.

She leant over and kissed him tenderly. "I don't know how I can survive a night without you."

"No."

"Come to the Ministry tomorrow afternoon, I'm free after lunch. We can have an official ... "chat" ... and then go for something to eat, followed by the recital. I will come back here afterwards ... if you want me to." She looked slightly nervously at him.

His eyes burned into hers and his fingers closed around her wrist. "How could I not? This place is empty without you ... I am empty without you."

Her eyes pricked yet again with tears. She had to go and bent down to kiss him again. He responded passionately, and she tore herself away painfully, rising swiftly to leave.

She hurried out of the door, tears starting to stream down her face, unable to speak or look back at him, the agony of leaving consuming her.

Once outside the room she disapparated instantly, emerging in a quiet corner near where her meeting was to take place. She quickly cast a soothing spell over her face, and went into the meeting just as the others were sitting down to begin. They noticed nothing.

A sense of dread overcame Hermione as the day wore on, and that, combined with her acute longing for Lucius, filled her with such a feeling of desolation that she was able to achieve virtually nothing. It mattered little. Hermione was always well ahead on her assignments, and to the observer, she sat at her desk all day, staring intently at the work before her.

At 5 o'clock she knew she could delay no longer, and slowly packed her things and left her office. She walked back to the flat, but did not go on any detours this time, aware that what needed to be doing, should be done fast.

Her footsteps sounded heavy on the stairs up to the flat and as she opened the door, her stomach clenched with fear and guilt.

She saw him immediately, sitting staring at the TV as usual. He did not turn around. She stared at the back of his head. His stubborn predictability infuriated her, but also tugged at her heart, reminding her of why they had got together in the first place. They had been through so much together. Part of her would always love him, if only as her dearest friend. Surely that did not have to change? She realised with agony that it would.

So was this it? After all these years. She held the power in her hand, and hesitated, suddenly losing her nerve. It would destroy him. Could she do that to someone? Anyone, let alone Ron?

She had hardly moved into the room and realised the door was still open behind her. She shut it at last, and he turned slightly, before returning to the TV.

She became aware that her face was soaked with tears, and reached up a hand to wipe them away. Her mind flicked back to leaving Lucius this morning and the feeling of emptiness twinged her belly yet again. She could not fool anyone any more.

She inhaled sharply and crossed to him, sitting down on a chair near him. She held her wand out to the TV and turned it off.

The silence which hung in the air was unbearable, so different to the comfortable quiet between Lucius and herself. She steeled herself and finally spoke, softly, fearfully, "Ron."

He did not look at her. She was unsure what to do or say next. Finally he broke his silence.

"How was your _friend?"_

"Ron ...," she could barely speak. Further silence. "I can't do this anymore." She spoke as clearly as she could, but feared he had not heard. He had.

"Do _what_, Hermione?" His voice had never sounded so bitter.

"Us." She could only manage one word.

He said nothing, and she could not bear to look at him.

Minutes seemed to tick away, neither of them speaking or moving. At length he stood up. "Go then."

He turned to leave the room. She stood up quickly. "Ron ..."

Suddenly he stopped and spun around to her, instant burning fury distorting his features. "Who is he?"

She didn't respond, but stood, shaking her head slightly. He took a step towards her, she nearly backed away. "Who the fuck is he, Hermione?"

She hung her head, still shaking it slowly. "That's not why it's over."

"Oh right. It's just me then is it? I'm just complete utter crap ... that's it, is it?" His voice was stripped of all its humanity. She hardly recognised it.

"I've changed. We want different things now."

"Since when?"

She shrugged.

"As far as I'm concerned this has all happened recently. You were fine, we were fine ... I don't get it ... I just don't get it ..." he was pacing up and down now, his hands gripping his hair. Hermione could hardly bear to witness his torment. "It was since I went on that coaching trip. I came back and you were ... different ... all the sex ... what was that all about? That was the start of it. Shit ... it wasn't even that long ago ... It was all fine before that ..."

"Not really." She nearly whispered.

"What was that?" He shouted mock courteously, but his voice was laced with bitter fury.

"I was deceiving myself."

He looked completely bereft, but she could no longer lie to him. Already she felt as if a burden had been lifted.

His body tensed again and he drew himself up. "I asked you before and I'll ask you again. Is it Snipworth?"

Hermione nearly cried. "No," she said honestly and firmly.

"Who is it then?"

She shook her head. She would not tell him, although the uncertainty would drive him mad, she knew.

"Please, Ron ..."

"Who . Is . It. Hermione?" His voice was venomous and she wondered briefly if he would strike her, although knew he could not. His face suddenly turned ashen. "Is it Harry?"

"NO!" she screamed, unable to bear his desperate questing for answers. "Please, Ron, don't ask me anymore. It's not the reason I'm leaving now."

He could not let it go. "I want his name. Tell me, Hermione. Tell me."

"I am not going to tell you." She shook her head desperately, sounding as forceful as was possible under the circumstances. "I am not going to tell you."

His last vestige of dignity and self-control vanished and he screamed at the top of his voice, "WHO IS IT? WHY THE HELL WON'T YOU TELL ME WHO YOU'RE FUCKING?!"

Tears fell unceasingly now and she fought to stay upright, but heard her voice, nearly as loud as his, "BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO HURT YOU ANY MORE!"

He stopped, panting heavily, a look of confusion on his face. "Any _more_? How the hell could you hurt me any more? You have completely destroyed me already." His body sagged and he turned away from her, asking the question again, only this time to himself, not understanding, "Who the hell could it be that would hurt me any more than you have done already?"

She knew she must go now, and moved to the door.

Turning back, she mumbled, "Sorry. I'm sorry," opened the door and slipped out, leaving the life she always thought she'd have behind forever.

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**Oh dear ...**

**Still, it had to be done ... I know she left quite abruptly, but what more could be done then? Don't worry, she will ensure Ron is looked after.**

**I may well upload the next chapter tonight. It sort of goes with this one.**

**Please continue letting me know what you think - it means a lot to me.**

**x**


	28. Twenty Eight: Pain

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**Note: This is not the first update of the day. You must definitely read 27 first!**

**You can't say I don't keep my promises!! Here's chapter twenty eight, although it is not a happy one, as you can imagine ...**

**Life is never easy, and there are never clear answers or solutions, as we all know, I'm sure ...**

**Thanks as ever for the wonderful reviews. Keep them coming, if you have a moment ... I read them avidly and carefully. **

**Advance notice!! I will not be able to update on Thursday, and only late on Friday, as I'm going to be in a place with no internet, so enjoy while you can, mwa ha ha!! Also, I am slightly aware that I am running out of chapters (although I haven't finished the story yet!) - I'd better get writing. There may come a time when my daily (or twice daily) updates may become difficult! Aaaahhhh! Right - I'm off to write!**

**Enjoy! (Although, that isn't quite the right word for this chapter!)**

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Twenty Eight - Pain

Hermione stood outside her flat, her whole being consumed with guilt and desolation for the first time since the start of this whole business. She remained motionless for hours, her body heaving with sobs.

For those moments Lucius was forgotten, desire was forgotten. All her mind and soul could think of was the sudden bereavement she felt and knew she had inflicted on someone so precious to her. It was the right thing to do, and it had had to be done then, but the pain and agony would not subside, and she knew it would remain in some form for a long time.

Eventually, she forced her legs to move and they carried her to the only place she could have gone that night. After an hour or so of walking, although it seemed merely minutes, Hermione found herself outside Grimmauld Place. As she muttered some words, the buildings on either side of Harry's house groaned apart. Standing there did nothing to ease her sense of desolation and dread. How on earth would Harry and Ginny react?

She rang the bell, the inevitable approaching agony building hopelessly. Harry came to the door, the smile on his face on seeing Hermione vanishing instantly when he noted her wretched posture. He stepped back, muttering, "Come in." She knew he realised already.

She walked through to the kitchen where Ginny sat reading at the table. She looked up, surprised to see a grim Hermione in her kitchen. Ginny set her face straight. Hermione was acutely aware of the awkward position she had put her in, caught between one of her best friends and her brother.

Ginny stood up, and mumbled to Hermione to sit down. She did so, feeling almost as if she didn't deserve to. Harry entered the kitchen and joined her at the table after pouring her a cup of tea. Then they both waited in silence to hear from her own lips what they already knew.

For a long while Hermione could not speak, merely sat there, her hands clasped tightly around the mug, staring into the murky hot liquid. Eventually she knew she had to say it, and lifting her head to look at them, she spoke softly but clearly, "I've left him."

Harry hung his head but Ginny stared at her, a clear look of bitter disappointment in her face. Silence enveloped the three of them again. After a while, Harry let out a deep sigh and spoke, his voice flat and low. "Yes. I suppose we knew as soon as you arrived. How is he?"

Sweeping guilt washed over Hermione and she hung her head shamefully once more. "I ... I don't know ... he's still in the flat."

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other. Hermione could tell they were debating whether to go to him. She hoped one of them would. It would ease her guilt over leaving him alone and alleviate the dreadful tension that hung between the three of them now. No one moved.

Ginny spoke. Hermione immediately heard the pain in her voice. "I don't understand, Hermione. You were doing so well. Harry and I were jealous of what you had. It's just so sudden. It's so sudden."

"Not really," Hermione heard herself saying.

"What?"

"I think I've been fooling myself for a long time that we were right together. I know what it must seem like, but ... it would be so wrong to continue now when I know what the eventual outcome will be ..."

"But," Harry interjected, "what has happened to make you see things like this? Is it something at work?" His trust in her fidelity was touching, but Hermione knew Ginny was not so naive. Sure enough, she spoke almost immediately.

"You've met someone else haven't you? Ron thinks you have and I'm sure you have." Her cold fury upset Hermione more than anything. It wasn't just Ron she had betrayed. She could not speak or look at them and they took her silence, rightly, as confirmation.

"Shit, Hermione. I didn't think ..." Harry started.

Hermione could take it no more. The tears were flowing freely now and she groaned out between sobs. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I was happy, but shouldn't have been maybe. I've grown, I've developed – we all have – but ... I've left him behind ... I mean ... moved away from him. Now I can see how much there is out there for me, who I am, what I can experience. I didn't have that with Ron. I wish I had but I didn't. I suppose, at the time, I didn't need it, but I do now. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This man has shown me so much, so much. I never knew I was capable of so much ... life. I can't go back ... I don't want to go back." She stopped, the sobs less heaving now.

"And how does this leave Ron?" Harry asked calmly, but with clear concern for his friend.

Hermione turned her head away, not wanting to burden any more guilt. "It will hurt for a long time ... It will hurt me for a long time ... but he deserves better ... I would have made him so unhappy ... he has much to keep him busy."

"That's what you're hoping, is it?" Ginny's voice cut through her attempt at justification.

"Please, Ginny ..." Hermione started, but Ginny cut her off immediately.

"Who is he? This ... knight in shining armour ...this life-affirming hero?"

Hermione shook her head, staring at the table.

"Why won't you tell us, Hermione? What does it matter now?" Realisation dawned on Ginny. "It's someone we know, isn't it? Shit, Hermione, tell me who it is."

Hermione continued studying the knots in the wood of the table. "I can't ..."

Harry spoke, far calmer that his girlfriend. "I mean, how does this man feel about you?"

Hermione realised that she didn't really have a straight answer to that, but heard Lucius' words to her before she left – _'I am empty without you.'_ "He needs me," she replied.

"Can you imagine being with him for a long time ... forever? Is he the one?" Harry pressed.

Hermione thought about it hard. Until now, she had only lived in the present with Lucius, that was all she wanted, all she needed. But Harry's question forced her into a realisation, and a strange feeling both of relief and uncertainty welled up inside her as she answered him. "Yes."

"Who is he, Hermione?" Ginny pressed her, just as her brother had earlier.

"Please don't ask me that. I can't tell you," Hermione clasped her head in her hands, trying to fend off this question which had assailed her all evening.

"What does it matter now? If you're going to pursue this ... relationship ...we'll find out eventually." Ginny would not let it go. "Is it Shacklebolt? God, I mean ... I've been thinking of all kinds of people ... Neville?"

Hermione actually laughed out loud at the ludicrousness of the suggestions. It was all such desperate clinging onto anything that would provide answers, reasons for her behaviour. She couldn't stop the mirthless laughter erupting out of her, so hopeless was the situation. Ginny looked furious.

"No ... please ... it's no one like that. God ... no."

Then when all sound had died down and silence fell upon them once again, Harry, who knew her better than anyone, spoke quite calmly but clearly, "Is it Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione was stunned. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. She never thought anyone would come so close. She stared at him, her mouth hanging open disbelievingly. She realised she would have to speak, but knew also that her reaction had made them realise that Harry had virtually hit the nail on the head.

"No ... no ... honestly ... no ... it's not ... it's not Draco ... you must believe that." She searched their faces. Could they read her that well? Would they now take the next short step and make the connection.

There was silence. She wasn't sure if they had even accepted her denial of a relationship with Draco. They sat there. The pressure to reveal the truth was unbearable, but she resisted.

After a while, the moment passed and Hermione felt a crushing exhaustion descend on her. She had no more to say, no more to give at that time and she had to ask, feeling they may well reject her request. "Can I stay here tonight? I'm sorry ... I have to ... I'm sorry ..."

Harry was solemn but Hermione sensed his acquiescence. Ginny was not so forthcoming. "Why aren't you with _him_?"

Hermione hung her head again. "Not tonight ..."

"Tomorrow though?" Ginny's voice was so bitterly cynical it stabbed through Hermione's conscience.

"Of course you can stay here," Harry spoke solemnly. Ginny turned swiftly to glare at him. She stood up quickly, finding her wand.

"I'm going to apparate to Ron. I'll stay with him tonight."

Her words hurt, but Hermione was relieved. She was glad Ron would not be alone.

Ginny went out into the hallway and they heard the pop of disapparition almost immediately. Harry and Hermione sat in silence for a long while. There was nothing more either could say that night. Eventually Harry stood up. "I'm going to bed. You know where the spare room is. It's all made up ... I'll ... uhh ... put some towels out for you ... Good night, Hermione."

"Good night," she said quietly as he left the room. Then she called after him, "Harry... thank you ... I'm sorry."

He nodded slightly, then left her alone.

She sat in the solitary silence for a while longer, emptiness consuming her, but another feeling niggling at her through all the pain, an equally agonising feeling of hollowness. She missed Lucius. At that moment, despite the guilt and remorse and betrayal, she wanted nothing more than to go to him and have him take her in his arms. The realisation of it shocked her and she heard herself whisper out into the dim kitchen, "I love him."

She thought of his revelation about his divorce and imagined him sitting in the gloomy loneliness of the manor, thinking over his change of circumstance. It would be wrong to go to him tonight. Tonight, they both needed to be alone with their conscience.

She hardly slept at all. Both her dreams and fractious waking moments were haunted by memories, conversations, recrimination. As she lay in the dark, she felt a feeling she could only describe as akin to an amputation. Ron had been a part of her life for so long, as fellow pupil, friend, lover, partner ... and suddenly, at her instigation, he was gone. It was not a feeling of regret, but she felt remorse for the loss to her soul, that could not be denied.

Equally she knew the only thing, also undeniable, which could alleviate this feeling, was a reunion with Lucius. This compounded her guilt, but was so clear to her it also reinforced her need and longing for this wizard who had transformed her life so suddenly and unexpectedly. She knew when she saw him tomorrow, he would ease away the remorse and betrayal she now felt. This did nothing to assuage her conscience, but at least reassured her that she had made the right decision.

With relief, Hermione saw the thin light of dawn creep through the shutters and rose. She quietly showered and got ready for work, desperate to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the house and her solitude. Making herself a piece of toast, she grabbed it as she headed out of the door, meeting Harry briefly as he came down the stairs. They locked eyes briefly. Hermione stopped and said clearly and genuinely, "Thank you for letting me stay here. I am so sorry to put you through all this."

Harry nodded, looking resigned to the choice his dearest friend had made. "I want my friends to be happy, Hermione. Ron_ and_ you. May have to wait a while, that's all."

Hermione smiled tenderly at him. "Thank you." Then she turned and walked out onto the rush hour London streets.

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**Let me know what you think. It's nice to write for some other characters ...**

**x**


	29. Twenty Nine: Comfort

**Twenty Nine at last, after a long day ...**

**I just wish I could come home to this ...**

**Thanks for such lovely, interesting reviews. Continue them if you can ...**

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Twenty Nine - Comfort

The journey to work lightened her mood, surrounded by noise and busy, self-obsessed humanity. She took the tube, comforted by the blank faces of the people surrounding her. Life went on, she reminded herself. It _was_ going on. Lucius was coming this afternoon.

He was, wasn't he? Vulnerability unexpectedly swept across her. What if he didn't? What if her absence, albeit only a day, and his divorce had made him think, reassess their situation? Her stomach lurched and as the train jolted along, nausea unsettled her. What if she lost Ron _and_ him? She had no reason to doubt the extent of Lucius' feelings for her, but he had never actually declared _love_. Was he even capable of it? Did she expect it from him?

She focused on his words once again. '_I am empty without you._' They eased her mind somewhat, and as the train moved from station to station, she berated herself silently for allowing such anxiety to take hold. She was a strong, independent woman. Surely she did not need anyone in order to live a happy and satisfying life? But the reality of her needs clawed away at her. She wanted him so desperately she would do anything, anything for him.

As his re-appearance approached, the stirring longing began again deep in her belly. Concern and guilt over Ron diminished as she thought about Lucius' hands on her, over her, in her. She shifted in her seat, her head falling back, a slight moan escaping her. She dragged her head back and opened her eyes. The young professional sitting opposite her was staring openly at her and smiled suggestively as she unwittingly met his eyes. She looked away quickly, not embarrassed, but determined not to humour him with any recognition of what she was thinking.

She was relieved that her station was next and exited the train swiftly. She walked the few steps to the telephone box above the Ministry and descended unobtrusively to the labyrinth beneath.

As she passed her colleagues and secretary on her way to her office, she felt duplicitous, secretive. It had been an extraordinary week, but as far as they were concerned, she hoped, she had turned up to work each day as usual, and simply gone about her usual tasks.

As ever, she had plenty to be getting on with, especially as her mind had hardly been focused on her work the day before. Lucius' imminent arrival spurred her on, and work was a welcome distraction. She knew if she ploughed on with it, time would pass more swiftly.

She did not look up at her clock until her stomach nagged at her. She had after all only had one piece of toast that morning. She emitted a sharp breath of joy when she saw it was one o'clock. Should she even risk popping out for lunch? He could arrive at any point, although it was unlikely. Hunger and reason got the better of her and she quickly hurried out for a bite to eat, returning no more than half an hour later and leaving her office door open.

At this point she did start to clock watch, although she tried desperately to get on with her work. What had she told him? Had she given him a specific time? Surely she had just said 'afternoon'? That after all, was what she had put in the diary.

She could hardly bear it and the niggling doubt which had crept upon her on the train this morning returned. What if he didn't come? She shook the notion off as best she could. Then at twenty to three she heard a steady heavy tread on the floor outside and her heart stopped. His low tones were unmistakable. She forced herself to remain seated, aware that Priscilla may well show him in. She did.

"Mr Malfoy to see you," she said, eyeing Hermione carefully.

Hermione replied coolly, "Thank you, Priscilla. Show him in."

Suddenly he was there, real, living, palpable in the room. The pain and desolation of the last day was suddenly washed away and she knew she would be alright. The rush of warmth and adrenaline that suddenly coursed through her was staggering and she was unable to stand, even though she desperately wanted to. Her mind and vision clouded, and she wondered briefly if she would lose consciousness.

He removed his outer robes and hung them on the stand, closing the door behind him. He muttered his usual locking and silencing charms then looked down at her, the familiar haughty smirk on his lips. "Miss Granger."

"Lucius ..." She was so overcome by his physical presence and the extreme effect he had on her that she could only manage a breathy whisper.

He remained standing across from her, quizzical bemusement catching his features. He drawled sarcastically, but not harshly, "Don't get up."

She stared up at him, desperate to tell him the reason she had not rushed over to greet him. "I can't," she managed to force out quietly. "You have overwhelmed me." Her eyes filled quickly and a tear rolled down her cheek.

He remained stationary for a while, looking down at her, as impassive as ever. She read nothing into it, did not have the wherewithal to do so. Then he moved, swiftly and silently round the desk until he was in front of her. She turned her chair slightly to face him, unsure what he would do next. Then his legs bent and she found him kneeling before her. She frowned slightly in query and he gazed at her with such tenderness she heaved out a deep gasping sob. Then he lowered his head, inclining it to the side, and laid it to rest softly and gently in her lap. She was overcome with emotion and drew in a deep rattling breath, holding her hands tremulously above his smooth blond hair. Then slowly, tentatively, she brought them down and rested them delicately in his locks, each fingertip in tender contact with him.

They remained like that for minutes, hardly moving, so comfortable in each other's presence and silence that she could imagine it no other way. At length he spoke, his voice more gentle and genuine than ever before. "I missed you."

She sighed out, still barely able to form words. "I missed you too." Another long silence fell again between them. She started a slow, gentle circling of her fingers on his scalp, the process soothing her as much as it did him. She spoke again, her voice gaining in volume. "I've left him."

She did not anticipate a reply and was surprised when, after a while, he spoke, calmly and deeply, "Good."

After what he had said last time, his affirmation of her actions brought her the deepest swell of pleasure and relief and she felt the tears falling freely yet again. She bent down to him, kissing over his head, softly at first but increasingly urgently. He lifted his head up and she held his face. She kissed over his eyes, his cheeks, until at last she found his mouth. Her warm, soft lips met it gently and almost chastely at first, in quick, brief blessings. Then the warmth inside changed familiarly to a deeper longing and she pressed her mouth down urgently, moving her lips on him. She felt him move his apart and he let her tongue quest inside his mouth. She flickered gently, exploring it as if for the first time. She felt for his own and let it join hers in movement.

She fell to the ground in front of him and their arms clasped themselves together desperately, their mutual passion rising inexorably towards the inevitable. He leant her over backwards, reaching over to push her chair out of the way at the same time. She moved her legs out under her, allowing his weight to press down on her deliciously. They both knew what must happen quickly and urgently. She moved her hips up and wriggled her underwear down and her skirt up. He undid his trousers swiftly and pushed them down to his knees. Her legs fell apart by themselves and he was quickly in place. He moved forward instantly, pushing deeply into her. She groaned with the sudden feeling of fullness, her neck arching up and her hips pushing up around him.

He moved feverishly within her, then pulled out before plunging ever deeper again. Each of his thrusts rubbed her tender clit and she reached up to pull him down ever closer, groaning deeply into his neck. The vibrations shivered down his body and sent heightened sensation to his electrified member. He moaned incoherently against her and he forced himself further into her than before, jolting against her cervix and finding her burning clit. Her body, already tensed to fall, convulsed in ecstasy. A tender cry of rapture escaped her and she pulsed hard around him. His groans joined hers and he exploded into her, filling her with his burning fluid, his spasming hips pinning her to the ground.

They lay still afterwards, aware of the beautiful post-coital silence enveloping them. She caressed his head once again and he planted a gentle kiss against her neck.

After a long while, he spoke, "Now, Miss Granger, I recall you mentioning us having some sort of 'chat'. Am I correct?"

She laughed slightly as she remembered their conversation the previous morning. "All in good time, Mr Malfoy. All in good time."

"Do you wish to have this ... chat ... as I lie pressing you down onto your hard office floor, or do you think we should drag ourselves into the chairs?"

She giggled at the farcical nature of his words, but then replied, still stroking his head, completely honestly and straight, "I don't want you to come out of me. Ever. I want you inside me forever."

He did not respond, but neither did he move. Eventually, he shifted slightly to ease the pressure of his heavy body, not that she minded it, but was careful to remain inside her, still surprisingly firm.

His hand came up and undid two buttons on her shirt. It crept in and moved her bra aside, gently cupping her breast. It was a gesture of affection and devotion, no more, and she found it remarkably calming and comforting. He asked, simply but openly, "How are you?"

She smiled ruefully. "I'm alright now. I'm alright with you." She sighed deeply and turned her head away from him.

"You will move into the manor tonight."

His words shocked her slightly, as did her complete acceptance of them. Never before would she have succumbed so unhesitatingly to a man's demands. But this was different. She knew she would not question it for a moment. She was merely surprised that he was so willing to take her in so quickly.

"Is that what you want?"

"I would not say it if it wasn't."

"Then it is what I want."

The warmth of his hand on her breast seeped straight through to her heart and she let out another heaving sigh. He squeezed slightly. "Where are you taking me tonight?"

"I'm not telling you until we get there."

"You need not worry. As long as I am with you, I do not care where I am."

She smoothed his head, "But I want you to care. I do not choose things lightly."

"I know. But that is the way it is."

"Aren't you worried we may be seen by ... someone ... whom you would rather not know about us?"

"We are still on official Ministry business, are we not?"

"Yes, but then we must behave with complete decorum at all times." She paused slightly. "I am not sure that I want to do that anymore."

He did not reply.

"I am happy to keep our ... arrangement ... secret for the time being, like I said, I do not mind as long as I am with you, but we cannot hide away in the manor forever, Lucius. You know how I feel about you. I am not ashamed ... and I do not mind if life gets ... 'complicated' ... as you say. I have dealt with complications in my life before. As have you. The only thing you need to ask yourself is ..." She turned and looked up at him, "are _you_ ashamed of _me_?"

He looked at her for the longest time, as if trying to find the answer in her face. When he at last replied, it was clear that in fact, there had never been any doubt in his mind.

"Never."

She resisted the temptation to weep once more and spoke clearly again. "Then, if you are happy, we will behave as we wish, and if someone finds out, whomever that may be, so be it."

"So be it," he reiterated softly, awed by her courage.

They continued to lie there for some time, it must have been at least two hours, talking about life, loss, sadness, coping, anything. Ron and Narcissa were never directly mentioned, but it was clear that they both needed to discuss their changing situations. Neither noticed the hard floor beneath them, or the heavy weight of Lucius lying atop Hermione, or their odd surroundings under her desk.

They eventually became aware of voices outside, some bidding farewell to colleagues, wishing them a good weekend. Both realised that they must have aroused some sort of suspicion, being shut off silently all afternoon in her office, but neither cared. With reluctance and vast effort, they slowly raised themselves off the floor, only then did their aching limbs make them aware of the discomfort they had put themselves through. Straightening herself and adjusting her clothing, Hermione undid the charms on the room and, checking that Lucius was decent, opened the door. Immediately she saw Priscilla and Ormus standing a little way down the corridor, whispering together. As soon as they saw her, they stopped and looked guiltily in her direction, then moved apart and Priscilla walked off down the hall to the bathroom.

Ormus approached Hermione, glancing over her shoulder at Lucius standing proudly in the office. "Everything all right, Hermione?"

"Of course," she replied stiffly.

"It's just that you and Mr Malfoy have been locked silently in your office for most of the afternoon." He spoke coldly, aware of the implications of his words. He looked down at her, not hiding his suspicion both of him and her.

"We had a lot to discuss and sort out. I have not seen Mr Malfoy since Monday." She fixed her eyes on him boldly, almost daring him to voice his suspicions.

He continued to look at her, clearly frustrated by the situation. "Hermione, you are entitled to lead your private life as you wish, but you must remember that when on Ministry property and in Ministry employ you must comport yourself with the utmost decency and transparency."

She accepted his point, and realised that they had been foolish to shut themselves in the office. She did not wish to compromise her position at the Ministry. However, she couldn't help thinking there was something more to it than that and suddenly wondered if he was jealous. She spoke quickly, trying to disperse the tension between them. "I ask you to keep your hearsay of rumour and gossip separate when assessing how well I do in my job. I can assure you that I am fulfilling the aims of the task Kingsley gave me to the utmost of my abilities, and, I believe, succeeding."

He took his eyes away from her briefly, but then returned them and asked flatly, "And what exactly does 'success' entail, Hermione?"

She did not respond, her temper rising inside her. It was then she heard a movement behind her and, as she inhaled, that familiar intoxicating aroma filled her nose and lungs once again. She felt him close, his heat radiating into her. She did not turn around, but felt a unity with him through his proximity. His voice came to her, the drawl smooth but serious."Is everything all right, Miss Granger?"

Her breathing hitched as she felt his presence, and knowing how it would inflame Ormus, she could not resist her next move, the temptation was too great and merely stoked the flames of anger and desire already burning. "Yes, Mi ... _Lucius_. I was about to tell Ormus how tonight we are going to dinner and then to a recital. I was saying how well you have responded to my guidance and tuition." She took a step back so that she was nearly leaning against him. It was clear to any casual observer that their bodies were touching and that both were more than comfortable with it. Hermione noted Ormus' breathing becoming more rapid and his cheeks flushing visibly.

Lucius then spoke, his silky tones snaking through the heavy air around them. "Yes, Miss Granger has been most proficient. And I daresay, she too has benefited from the sessions. I feel I too have much to teach her. I would say this is a mutually beneficial arrangement. We are both most satisfied. Would you not agree ... Hermione?"

Her insides lurched when he used her first name in front of her boss, she would never have dreamed it possible. The innuendo in their conversation further ignited her and she struggled not to turn and grab him right there. She leaned into him slightly and felt an urgent hardness pressing against her lower back. She moved against it and heard a slight hiss escape from him. She continued staring defiantly at Ormus, but a brief smile played upon her lips.

"Absolutely. I am more satisfied with the arrangement than I ever thought possible."

Ormus stood stiffly and awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He could prove nothing, and it was clear that they were obviously making progress with Malfoy's rehabilitation. He realised reluctantly that he could do nothing. He nodded slightly down at her, said forcefully, "Be careful, Hermione," turned and returned to his office.

Hermione and Lucius stood in the same position for a moment, their breathing heavy and increasingly desperate. She reached her hand back and brushed against the iron hardness which had been pressing into her back. He instantly grabbed her wrist painfully and pulled her forcefully back into the office, shutting the door behind them and leaning against it, just managing the charms in time. His hands grasped her head hard and he pulled her violently up to his mouth, forcing her lips apart and thrusting his tongue in. There was nothing tender about his desire now and she felt the same, responding to his assault with the deepest moan of hunger. He broke away suddenly, hissing his words desperately as she tried to recapture his mouth. "Want to be ... in your mouth ... now ... _down_." He gripped her shoulders and pushed her down hard. She revelled in his control and felt her pants soaking with lust.

He had already let his trousers and boxers fall and she steadied herself with one hand around the back of his thighs. Allowing herself a brief look at his rock hard, urgent cock so needy before her, she let her tongue out slowly to lick the tip, then swirled leisurely around the head. She knew he wanted more and so did she, but needed to wrestle some power back from him. She breathed around him, and let her mouth close tantalisingly gently around the head, her tongue running up along the slit. Pre-cum oozed into her mouth and sent a jolt of delight through her. He was desperate and flung his head back, groaning with more frustration than she had ever heard. She knew he would not tolerate this teasing with the mood he was in, and could hardly wait for his response. She got one instantly. His hand came down and gripped her hair painfully, making her gasp around him. His words came hot and angry, his fervent desire running through them. "Fuck, witch, _fuck you_ ... _take me fully now_ ... I want to be down your throat ... _I want to make you gasp_ ... I want to make you gasp for air." With that she lost any control she had as he pushed her hard down onto him, the deepest moan forcing its way out of him.

She was only just able to adjust her position to accommodate him, and relaxed her throat as he sank swiftly right to the back of it. It was violent and she could not have stopped if she had wanted to, but she did not want to. His dominance at this moment was sublime; she would do exactly as he wished and knew she would be soaking because of it.

She sucked him hard, her throat muscles tightening around him. She couldn't breathe, but trusted him enough to surrender to him. His moans of gratification were continuous now, never had she known him give himself over so much to pleasure. He pulled her back, just in time, and she dragged her lips tightly over him as she went, letting her tongue slide over his tip as he popped out. The air came rushing back into her lungs and she drank it in, her gasps for oxygen mixing with the gasps of need to taste him once again. She gazed down at his throbbing cock, purple with lust, but before she could think long, he had pushed her down onto it once more, groaning, "Again ... _fuck!"_ She could only comply as his hand twisted in her hair and pushed hard. She let her tongue lave and swirl around him as he descended once more and again, clenched her throat around him once he was fully in, the strange discomfort merely setting her core further aflame, her insides molten with desire.

He was moaning uncontrollably now, his head hanging back, his eyes closed in utter bliss, but still he did not release his hold on her hair. However, although she acknowledged the physical control he had over her, she felt euphoric in the power she held over his pleasure. Again, he pulled her back just as her need for oxygen grew desperate and she gasped in the welcome air in loud gulps, eliciting louder moans from him. He pushed her down one more time, controlling her descent more slowly this time, allowing her to lick and suck deliciously, drawing him towards his final release. Both his hands were on her head now and his breathing came in gasping sobs. She swirled her tongue hard around his head as it passed down and reached a hand up to grasp his heavy sac. He pushed her violently down fully, hitting the back of her throat which grasped him tight. A primeval sound was wrenched from the depths of his body and he convulsed into her, spurting explosively again and again, for what seemed like the longest time, accompanied by his relentless groans of deepest pleasure.

He softened slightly in her mouth and she felt his tight hold on her hair relax. He was still panting his moans out but she pulled back gently, licking up any stray drops and ensuring he was looking down at her before swallowing his seed longingly into her. With that sight he closed his eyes again, almost as if it was too much to watch and let his panting head lean against the door.

In spite of all their frantic, sublime connections over the last weeks, never had she felt she had drawn such need or pleasure out of him. It was enthralling and empowering and she stood up, still breathing heavily. They looked deeply into each other's eyes for a long moment, then she moved away from him and walked slowly to her desk, turning to lean against it, still breathing heavily.

After several minutes he managed to recover himself enough to walk over to her. She did not expect him to reciprocate, but knew he was too proud to leave her unsatisfied.

He smiled gently down at her. "You have rendered me unable to repay you equally, but ..." with that he let his eyes wander down to her breasts. He languorously undid some buttons and slipped his hand in, lowering her bra cup and taking the breast firmly in his hand, instantly finding the nipple, and pinching it hard. She let her head fall back and gasped in, deep and slow. Her desire for him was so tensely poised already, that it hardly registered as pain at all, just brought another rush of wetness from between her legs. She knew she would come as soon as he touched her, and was reminded of their first meeting in this office. He now lowered his head to her breast, licking, sucking, nibbling. His left hand moved to her other breast and teased the nipple to another rock hard point of pleasure. At last his right hand moved down, quickly moving her clothing out of the way, finding her sopping and so close. His thumb thrust inside her snatch and two fingers worked their way into her arse, causing her to sob. "Ohhh ..._god_..._ohhh ... god_ ... I love it ... _I love you_ ..."

He smiled against her nipple before lavishing attention on it again, his hand mimicking the actions on the other, roughly pinching, sucking, biting. Her body was tensed before the final fall, and she needed him to touch her electric inflamed bud. "God ... _now please, Lucius_ ... make me come ... touch me ... _touch me now ... I beg you_ ..."

His thumb whirled around her walls briefly then drew out and stroked up towards her magic nub, his nail scraping deliciously as it went. His fingers remained firmly placed deep inside her most tender passage. He found her clit with his thumb and rubbed hard, just as his mouth and fingers clamped down on her nipples. She was blinded as pleasure convulsed her body, spreading out to every part of her. She shook violently against his hand, crying his name out in ecstasy, "God, Lucius! _Oh my god, oh my god!_ Need you always ... your touch ... just your touch ... _Oh god ...oh god_ ..."

Eventually he withdrew his hand from her and she groaned, collapsing further onto her desk.

After that, neither spoke, the pleasure they had just given each other was best met with silence.

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**Hmm ... oh to have Lucius to distract me from the stresses and strains of life ...!**

**Please let me know what you think, would love it if you did!**

**x**


	30. Thirty: Music

**OK, folks, here's chapter thirty. I enjoyed writing this one a lot, as it is revealing of Lucius in particular.**

**Can I say a huge, heartfelt thank you for all your lovely reviews. I enjoy the dialogue between me and readers a lot. THANK YOU ALL!**

**So, this is quite a tender chapter, which is needed, due to what has been before, and also, what is to come, as things are going to get ... complicated ...**

**I have to go away until late Friday, to London ironically, and will be unable to update again until then. Sorry! Will be itching to update for you all, especially as I know what's to come ...**

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Thirty – Music

At length they noticed the department growing quiet and the noise of workers was replaced by the soft shuffle of the elves as they went about their cleaning duties. She smiled across at him. He had slumped into the chair. "Let's go and get something to eat."

She walked over and held her hand down to him, mimicking the gesture he had employed with her more than once. He looked up at her, a smile on his lips, his eyes dancing, then took her hand firmly and allowed her to help pull him from the chair.

"And where shall we eat tonight?"

"It's a place called the Criterion, near Piccadilly Circus. It's an amazing building and the food is wonderful, and pretty reasonably priced. It's one of Marco Pierre White's places."

"Who?"

"Muggle chef. Fiery temper. Passionate. You'd like him." Smiling wickedly, she threw on her coat and led him out of the office.

They had hardly made it down the corridor when he stopped her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

She looked back at him, confused. He stopped and motioned down his body at his robes, then raised a sardonic eyebrow at her formal work attire. She sighed. "Shit. I don't want to apparate all the way to the manor and back now." He studied her carefully then gestured over to a side room, rarely used. It had a large cupboard used to store protective clothing for dealing with the more fragrant magical creatures.

"How did you know this was here?" she questioned.

"My dear, I have been coming to the Ministry for various reasons for longer than I care to admit or remember."

Lucius walked over to the cupboard and opened it, revealing the white cover-alls inside. Hermione laughed, covering her hand with her mouth. "Sorry, but ... somehow I think we might not get in to the place we're going if we wear those."

He gave her a withering look, then turned and shut the door of the cupboard again. Holding his wand in his right hand and placing his left on the door, he mumbled a long incantation that Hermione could not distinguish. He then opened the door of the cupboard again and revealed an immaculate black Aquascutum suit for him and a flowing Nicole Farhi dress for her, in a deep red, with shoes to match. She sighed deeply at his ability to amaze her. He looked back at her, a smile on his face. "Oh ye of little faith," he drawled deprecatingly across to her.

She smiled and walked over to him, leaning up and kissing him gently on the cheek. Then she reached across him and took the dress. She walked to the centre of the room and slowly undid her shirt, letting it flutter to the floor. His eyes were on her, taking in every detail and she did not disappoint as she reached for the zip on her skirt, undoing it deliberately little by little, then letting it slide down her legs, revealing stockings and suspenders. She heard him audibly inhale before reaching down and pushing off one shoe at a time, letting them clatter noisily to the floor. Then she picked up the dress and lifted it above her head, letting it slide over her curves, which they clung to deliciously. It was a soft silky material, low cut, which finished at the knees, and hugged her waist and hips. He looked on in approval then discarded his robes and pulled on the black shirt and suit which hung in the cupboard, once again tying his hair tightly back. He was stunning and she smiled slyly in appreciation.

They walked back briefly to her office, where they left their wizarding clothes. Hermione felt so in tune with her muggle heritage, and wanted so much to embrace it, that she left her wand in the office. Then he offered her his arm, which she took firmly, and they walked gracefully out of the Ministry, up to the busy London streets above.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

It was a warm summer evening, and as they walked through the streets, thronging with tourists and workers just starting to relax for the weekend, Hermione felt a rush of elation coursing through her. She had left behind her restrictive past; this is where she wanted to be, this is who she wanted to be with. She thought she would never be happier again. She looked up at the man next to her, his immaculate features warm in the glow of the early evening sun. He was one of the most brilliant and powerful wizards she knew, but none of that mattered now. As they walked through Green Park, two people completely at ease with each other, out for a Friday evening, it was all forgotten; his past, his beliefs, her role in saving this world that they now walked anonymously through.

They stopped occasionally and clasped each other tightly to the other, kissing tenderly or passionately as the mood took them. People stared openly, but they neither noticed nor cared, the only thing in their world each other.

They eventually made it to the hectic whirlwind of Piccadilly Circus and Lucius was relieved when she pulled him away from the crowds towards a beautiful building with a gilded canopy extending out over the pavement. They walked in to one of the most ornate rooms Lucius had ever seen. The ceiling was decorated like a Byzantine church, with gilt mosaics adorning every inch of the barrel roof. Enormous mirrors adorned the walls and he felt slightly as if it had the tasteful decadence of a very expensive brothel. It was still stunning and had a fantastic atmosphere, at once welcoming but inspiring.

Hermione quickly spoke to the man on the door, "We have a reservation in the name of Granger." He eyed them respectfully and showed them to their seats, seated on the side of the restaurant.

Lucius sat down and smiled slightly across at her. "You have done well."

She smirked back, pleased with his approval.

They ordered, he once again requesting a wine she hoped he would pay for.

The restaurant soon filled with people, enjoying their Friday night. Their starters arrived swiftly and she noticed that he looked suitably impressed with what was placed before him. They ate and chatted, once again, never lacking a topic on which to converse freely. She told him about how she had found her early days at Hogwarts, avoiding any mention of Draco, but discussing her issues with being a muggle-born witch quite freely. Lucius listened intently, and his silence showed her that he acknowledged how ignorant so many people had been of her, including himself. However, Hermione still doubted that he would be so tolerant of other muggle-borns and half-bloods.

He spoke about Draco's frustration with the Gringott's goblins, amusing her with his recounts of the tales his son had told him. He mimicked his son's snide tones all too well, and she saw how he too realised the failings of his only child.

Their main course arrived smoothly and their conversation flowed along. She started to talk about the latest book she had been reading, and was surprised to find he too had read it. "But ... it's by a muggle."

He eyed her wearily and sighed. "I've told you before. We ignore the diversity of life at our peril. And anyway, as you keep telling Snipworth, I am trying _really hard_." He smirked across at her, emphasising the last two words like a teacher appraising a pupil.

She smiled, blushing slightly as he teased her. They continued talking about books, and she discovered he was remarkably well-read, more so than her in all likelihood. He had evidently begun his exploration of muggle authors far before his programme had started. Here was a man who had been reading all manner of books avidly for decades. She looked at him with increasing wonder. She had been wrong about him in so many ways when she was younger, but not all, she forced herself to remember. And besides, he had chosen to present a particular image; she could not be blamed for seeing only one side of him, as that is all he showed. Her next words slipped out, almost unaware.

"You've wasted so much of your life."

He paused briefly, not looking at her, but she saw his eyes freeze and suddenly worried that she had angered him deeply. Then he continued placing his food on his fork and spoke firmly, "Perhaps."

She was amazed by his admission. He then looked up at her and continued, "But I shall ensure I make up for it now." He took a mouthful of wine, staring at her all the while. She gazed back at him, a tender smile illuminating her features.

She responded eventually, wishing him to know how touched she was. "Your candour and sincerity is humbling."

He sighed again and said simply, "It is a relief not to have to lie anymore."

"Including about us?" she did not look at him, and slightly regretted changing the mood of the conversation. He did not respond immediately.

"As we said, we will deal with those issues as and when they arise," his voice was thankfully still even and calm. "I don't think Snipworth was left in much doubt as to what is going on after this afternoon. Anyway, I do not think I could ever lie about you. You inspire complete honesty."

With that she reached suddenly and brusquely across the table, knocking the crockery and cutlery and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to her mouth, kissing and rubbing her cheek against it desperately, eyes closed as tears welled swiftly in them. The couple sitting next to them looked across in bemusement before returning to their meals, smiling awkwardly to each other. Lucius cupped his hand around her face and stroked away a tear. She released her grasp on him but he only slowly withdrew his hand after a long while.

The meal was drawing to an end, and Hermione was aware that they needed to get to the recital. Lucius once again paid, and ignored Hermione's offer of money. "I'm not old-fashioned in that way, Lucius. In my world the woman frequently pays."

"My dear, once again I ordered an expensive wine, I have a profusion of wealth and I hope, in matters such as this, I am a gentlemen. It is clearly the most obvious thing to do."

She was silenced.

They left arm in arm, and she reached up and kissed him, breathing in his ear a gentle, "Thank you."

She hailed a taxi and they got in, Lucius still taking a long time to brush and wipe the seat before sitting on it. She smiled to herself, telling the driver quietly where to go, before moving to lean into him for their journey.

They arrived at length outside a medium-sized concert hall, and as they stepped out, Lucius looked up, a certain distant recognition on his face.

Hermione grasped his hand. "Welcome to the Wigmore Hall, the site of some of the most amazing and intimate recitals the world has ever seen."

"And what is happening tonight?"

"Bach."

He raised his eyebrows, requiring more information. She indicated the poster on the board. 'Bach Cello Sonatas.'

"The player is one of the best cellists of our time. And Bach is ... well, Bach."

He looked pleased, and his eyes took on a distant look, as if dredging up a remote memory. He spoke gently, "I haven't heard these for ... a long time. I used to play them ... try to." She squeezed his hand. He continued. "There are many who believe Bach had magical powers, but chose not to train or officially acknowledge his abilities."

"That makes sense. I can hardly believe a mere human could possibly produce the quantity or quality of output he did."

He couldn't resist and said with a smirk, "Come, my dear, you should have more faith in muggles."

She squeezed his arm playfully and led him inside. As they walked through the crowds gathered in the lobby, she noticed again how he constantly attracted admiring looks, particularly from women. It was a strange situation to find herself in. It had certainly never happened with Ron. It elicited a combination of pride and possessiveness. She resented their flirtatious glances, although she noted he did not acknowledge them.

They seated themselves in the auditorium. She glanced across at him. His face had a clear expression of expectant anticipation which filled her with a warm glow. Applause broke out around them as the cellist arrived on the stage. As silence descended she sighed deeply, overwhelmed with happiness.

The deep opulent tones of the cello wafted over to them, an endless flow of notes, a stream of consciousness between the man, the instrument and the music, so skilfully wrought by the cellist. She was transfixed. She would never have been able to go somewhere like this with Ron, and yet, it was so nourishing, she wondered how she could have lived without it.

After the third sonata, she glanced up at Lucius. He was staring at the stage, his mouth open slightly, his chest moving in and out heavily. His eyes were glistening. She looked away quickly, feeling as if she was intruding on an intensely private moment.

The recital moved from one sublime movement to the next, and was over all too soon. As it ended, she could not resist looking over to him again. He sat immobile, not clapping, simply staring forward, the same expression on his face as before. The rest of the audience left around them. They continued sitting there, she not wishing to hurry him out of his reverie.

Eventually, when they were the only ones left in the hall and the steward eyed them severely, she gently touched his leg. He turned with a deep gasp to her, as if suddenly woken from sleep. She frowned slightly with concern and tried to smile to reassure him. "Lucius," she began softly, "we have to go. They want to close the hall."

She stood, holding his hand and he followed her heavily up. They went out into the street, the noises of London shocking their senses after the sublime sounds they had just heard. He looked recovered and she hesitantly asked, "What did you think?"

He stood still, continuing to stare blankly ahead. "It was like a conversation with one's soul." Then he turned and fixed her with his eyes. "Thank you for allowing me to live."

She thought she would collapse, his words so profoundly touching her being, it almost hurt. She looked away, unable to bear the intensity of the moment, then forced herself to look back and reached her hand up round his neck, kissing him passionately. Then, holding his hand, they walked off into the London night.

* * *

**There we are ...**

**It is worth listening to these cello pieces (Bach Cello Sonatas, or Cello Suites), even if you do not like classical music. The first one in particular is not long (only a couple of minutes), and immediately accessible to the listener. You can easily get it on itunes. There are lots of versions available, but I wouldn't go for the one by Rostropovich as it is too fast. I love all kinds of music, believe me, but I think these (especially number one as I said) is very Lucius. I think it would help with the story if you managed to listen.**

**Anyway, let me know what you thought of the story. I love it when you do!**

**So, folks, until Friday night GMT. I'll miss you all a lot!!**

**x**


	31. Thirty One: Park

**I'm back! Bit worn out after my hasty trip, but here's the next one. Missed posting for you all!**

**Thank you so much for the lovely, lovely reviews. I will get back to those I can, but won't be able to manage it tonight, I'm afraid!**

**So ... things take a turn here ...**

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Thirty One - Park

They strolled back through the streets, enjoying being out anonymously amongst other people. They spoke little, but held each other tightly, enjoying the contentment which had spread through them during the recital.

They turned into a park, the heavy perfumed summer's evening air enticing their senses. They would have to apparate to the manor at some point, but there seemed no rush.

They came to an empty part of the park. It was late now and there were no people around. It was a pretty area, densely wooded, with many bushes and shrubs. Lucius drew himself up slightly, a pang of discomfort crossing his face. Hermione turned and looked at him with concern. "Are you alright?"

"Call of nature, that's all."

She smiled – he was human after all. "Just go behind a tree or a bush. No one's going to see."

He frowned, the idea clearly not appealing to him, but his features reluctantly formed into an expression of submission, and he turned and walked quite a way from her to a tree. She stood and waited, the air suddenly feeling chilly around her.

She drew her arms around her when suddenly it happened.

A large, heavy hand grabbed around her mouth and pulled her back behind a bush. She tried desperately to scream, but the hand was too tight on her mouth and she could do nothing. She kicked and struggled, but stopped abruptly when she saw a glint of silver out of the corner of her eye and felt a sharp tinge on her skin. A knife was being pressed to her throat.

"Not a fucking sound, bitch."

Whoever had her stank, a foul mixture of sweat, stale alcohol and rancid breath. Her eyes watered with the stench but her mind forced her to stay calm. She had dealt with worse and she knew too that Lucius was not far away and would be back.

The knife still pressed firmly to her throat, her assailant took out a filthy cloth and shoved it into her mouth, tying it roughly behind her head, then he drew a rope out from somewhere and managed to secure her wrists tightly behind her, pushing her roughly to the ground. He meant business, and unless something happened fast, Hermione knew he intended to rape her or worse.

She was sure Lucius would find her, and decided to wait a moment more before struggling to free herself and exacerbating the situation. She still felt remarkably calm, biding her time. The man leant over her, hissing his foul odour onto her face. "So beautiful. Nice dress, sweetheart, shame we'll have to ruin it. What a silly thing to do, coming out in the park all alone." His hand groped feverishly over her body, causing her to flinch, and he ran the knife down over her, stopping at the apex of her thighs. "Never mind. Not alone anymore are you?"

"No. She is not."

The man spun around, a look of horror on his face. Hermione quickly managed to raise herself to her feet, at last allowing herself a surge of panic. Lucius' voice was quite calm but he stood tensed and poised, his wand held primed in front of him.

The man quickly grabbed Hermione again, the knife once again at her throat. A fury and malevolence descended over Lucius' face, a look that Hermione had not seen since ... she could not think. He spoke once again, his voice dripping with icy determination. "Move away from her - _now."_

The man scoffed. "Or what? You gonna attack me with a _twig_?" he laughed as his eyes moved to Lucius' wand, tensed in his hand.

"I strongly suggest you comply."

The man looked on mockingly. "Oh, I don't think so. I mean. I've got a large knife and you've got ... a small stick. Somehow I think I've got the upper hand." He tightened his grip on Hermione who flinched slightly. Lucius' face set into an expression of bitter determination.

"_Sectumsempra_!" A jet of light shot from Lucius's wand as he slashed it through the air. Two deep gashes appeared on the man's face and he screamed in surprise and agony, releasing his hold on Hermione and collapsing to the ground, pushing himself away from them and clutching his face. Hermione gazed down at the man's body beneath her, a strange surge of adrenalin coursing through her. Lucius was swiftly at her side, untying her gag and bindings. He drew her into him, then held her head, studying her face hard, "Are you alright? I'm sorry. So stupid. I shouldn't have left you."

Hermione nodded reassuringly. "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's alright. You're here now. I knew you would be." She held him close to her then opened her eyes to see the assailant back on his feet, his knife raised. She pushed Lucius out of the way, screaming, "Watch out!"

He spun around just in time to avoid the man stabbing his back. Hermione reached for her own wand, only to remember she had left it behind at the Ministry.

Lucius raised his wand again, shouting, "_Expelliarmus_!" The knife shot out of the man's hand. A look of confusion and horror crossed his face, but quickly changed into angry determination. His body tensed and he hurled himself towards Lucius, whose wand was still poised.

"_Alerte ascendare_!" The man was immediately propelled several feet into the air, his screams of terror sounding out.

Hermione glanced from him to Lucius. He was looking up in fierce rage at the man above him, pinned there by his raised wand. His face looked just as it had all those years ago, when she had seen him battling her and her friends. This time however, she was filled not with revulsion and hatred, but pure longing. His anger, his rage, his burning fury ignited her desire, despite the danger she had just found herself in. Why was she not ashamed? She had no answer, but gazed at him in awe, her breathing heavy and rapid. Lucius swept his hand down and the man hurtled to the ground with a crash, a cry of agony escaping him. Lucius stepped over to him and looked down in icy contempt.

"Get up, worm." The man trembled before him on the ground, now looking at the "twig" in Lucius' hand with sheer terror and incomprehension. He complied, in clear agony, his hands out before him.

"Shit, I think you've broken my fucking leg, man. Put that bloody thing away. What the fuck is it? What the fuck are you?" His eyes were filled with fear and confusion.

Lucius lowered his wand, breathing heavily, but allowing his voice to return to a semblance of its languid drawl. "Just so you know, I am a very powerful man indeed, as I think I have demonstrated tonight, and if you so much as touch another woman at any point in the future, you will experience pain of such magnitude that you will wish you had never been born. Do you understand?"

The man's face had set once again into a twisted snarl of hatred, but he said nothing, seemingly accepting Lucius' words.

Lucius took Hermione's hands and they turned to walk off.

The man's voice came loudly and suddenly after them. "Later on, when you're fucking that tight bitch, don't forget it was me who got her hot, sweet, dripping cu ..."

"_CRUCIO_!" Lucius spun around, his arm raised straight out before him, his voice hurled with venom through the air. A flame of red shot from his wand and hit the man straight in the chest. He screamed in agony as his body fell to the ground, convulsing as the pain tore through him. He lay there twitching and spasming as the curse continued to run through him, moaning incoherently with blinding pain. Hermione knew exactly how he felt, but could summon no remorse whatsoever.

Lucius strode over to him, his body seeming taller and broader than ever. He leant down and picked the man forcibly off the ground, staring into his eyes with malice and frozen fury. Hermione felt a quiver of excitement flow through her but did not stop to question it. Lucius spoke, his voice laced with piercing hatred. "What a shame I have to repeat myself. I reiterate everything I said before, but now add to it, that if I hear another word from your repulsive little throat as I now walk away I will next time show you far less mercy than you happily got away with on this occasion. Do I make myself clear?"

The man merely trembled with terror and the pain still twinging his body, his feet dangling off the ground.

Lucius gripped him ever more firmly, shaking sharply and eliciting a gasp of fear from the man. "_I said,_ 'Do I make myself clear?'"

"Ye ... yes," he finally managed to sob out. Lucius abruptly released his grip and let him fall to the ground with a thud, a further cry of agony rising from him.

Lucius turned swiftly, taking Hermione's hand and leading her away.

They didn't look back and continued walking and walking, fast and steady. Lucius was deep in concentration and Hermione could hardly draw breath as she raced along with him.

They passed a Muggle telephone box and Hermione broke away from him and went and made a call. It was brief. When she returned he looked at her with querying concern. "I phoned the police. Told them where they could apprehend him."

The look on his face momentarily appeared even more vexed, but he nodded slightly then set his face straight again and carried on walking. She followed rapidly behind as they hurried through the large park. Suddenly she stopped; she could go no further. He stopped out of necessity too and turned to look at her, his face set seriously and silently.

Hermione looked at him. She realised that, despite the clear abhorrent danger she had been in, she had felt little fear, and certainly was suffering no trauma from it now. What was more of a revelation to her was how she had reacted to seeing Lucius behaving as he had. He had shown her the man he used to be, the man who still clearly lurked, deep inside, although she had no doubt that her assailant deserved all he had got.

However, she had to admit to herself that instead of the revulsion she should feel towards her lover, his words and actions had undoubtedly turned her on more than ever, and as she stood staring at him in the dark night now, her body was alight with desire for him.

He looked at her, bewilderment crossing his features. She crossed to him, her arms coming up round his neck. She gazed deep into his eyes, her lust burning clearly within them. He was confused and leant back from her slightly. She merely tightened her grip and pulled him down to her. She knew it was wrong after all that had happened, but the throbbing in her core was more acute than she could ever remember it and she knew she needed him now, as he was, the cold icy fury still burning inside him.

She fixed him with her eyes and breathed out, "Please ..." She took his hand and pulled him steadily towards some bushes. They found their way deep into them until they came to a small clearing. His eyes were burning but uncertainty was also clear in them.

"Hermione ... not now ... not tonight ... here ..."

But it was too late. She had stripped her clothes off rapidly and lay down on the ground, almost in a trance, her body arching itself off the damp earth towards him. She writhed around, her arms and legs becoming smeared in earth and leaves as she did so. He stood above her, breathing rapidly, torment raging within him. She groaned into the night air and reached down between her legs, arching her back. Her other hand reached out desperately to him and he could stop himself no more. He lowered himself swiftly to the ground beside her, pulling himself free from his trousers and plunged rapidly into her. She cried out in fulfilment and he moaned deeply into her neck. She reached around his back under his shirt and clawed her fingers down, scratching deeply. He hissed but she felt him swell within her and she dug her nails deeper yet into his flesh. It merely spurred him on. They were both so close already, that he plunged ever more urgently into her, rubbing her clit with each thrust. It took only a little while longer before she came, screaming his name into the night air, clasping him to her. Her walls squeezed around him and he shuddered violently, shooting deep into her and groaning against her rapturous body.

She breathed heavily, the fulfilment she had so needed leaving her gasping for breath even afterwards. He lay atop her for a while, but then moved to the side. They lay under the stars, their breath starting to vapourise in the chilly air around them.

She lay with her head on his shoulder. They said nothing for the longest time, but eventually he spoke.

"You do realise what this means, don't you?"

She was quiet, not sure what he meant. He sounded so serious it unnerved her.

"I used an Unforgivable Curse. The automatic result of that is a life-sentence in Azkaban."

She felt as if her heart had been ripped out. Her mouth was immediately dry and her mind went numb. It had not occurred to her. Why had he not said before?

She sat up quickly, her breathing rapid, her mind frenzied.

"But ... but they'll never know ... Lucius ... how will they know...? It won't matter ... you'll be alright ... no ... it's alright ..." She was desperate, unable to express the horror which was filling her soul.

"You know they can detect illegal magic, certainly if used by someone they are monitoring, as I of course am being." He spoke quite calmly and matter-of-factly.

Hermione was sobbing now, a panic so profound welling up inside her she thought she would be sick. "But ... it was self-defence ... that is obvious ... our lives were in danger."

"Not when I used the curse. I was simply enraged at that point, when he said those things about you." He reached up and stroked her hair, still remarkably calm. "Anyway, self-defence is no excuse for using an Unforgivable Curse. There are always alternatives."

She was weeping uncontrollably, a sense of despair and lack of control sweeping over her. She rocked herself back and forth. "Why did you do it then?" She was not blaming him or angry with him, but needed to hear his explanation. He was silent for a long time before finally answering.

"Because that is who I am."

She turned swiftly to him. "That is who you _were_. You were just pushed tonight. Anyone will see that. You've changed. They know that."

"Yes, it is who I was, but it is still there, Hermione. I can't quell it completely. You have seen it. You have responded to it." He continued to stroke her hair.

"Yes and I love you. I love who you are and who you were, and I will continue loving you entirely." She broke down completely, lying back on the ground again.

He moved over her, looking down in tenderness and humility at the woman stretched out before him. He reached down and stroked away her tears and kissed her deeply, clasping her to him more urgently than ever. When they finally parted he spoke, his voice saying the simple words more tenderly and meaningfully than she had ever heard it.

"Let me take you home."

And with that, he drew out his wand, for the second time that night, and apparated them both to the house.

* * *

**Oh dear ...**

**Consequences ...**

**Let me know your opinions, pretty please ...**

**x**


	32. Thirty Two: Agony

**Well, here we are. This one is a bit shorter and not terribly sweet, I'm afraid - well - not in the conventional sense of the word, but there are some heartfelt moments, believe me. It was painful to write! The tissues were at hand!**

**Thanks once again for the reviews - so kind of you all. **

* * *

Thirty Two - Agony

They arrived in the hallway and immediately went upstairs, undressing in silence. Neither had spoken for the longest time now, there was nothing that could be said. Lucius was deathly serious, his face immovable. The old lines of tension had reappeared around his eyes and mouth and his breathing came persistently fast and heavy. He had placed his wand on the table and Hermione picked it up and examined it sharply. How could such an insignificant looking thing be responsible for such despair?

His agony was unbearable and Hermione wished desperately to take it, burden it herself, but she knew she could be of little comfort to him. He had never spoken of his time in Azkaban, and she had never asked. Some things, she knew, were too painful to discuss.

They lay in bed silently. He was turned away from her, but whenever she happened to move her body away from him slightly, he would moan in something akin to pain and move back towards her, so that he could feel every inch of her along him. She reached her arm over and held him as tightly as she could, fearing he may disappear right there and then.

She had to ask, uncertain as she was. "What will happen now?"

"They will come for me. Probably before dawn."

"Will they take you straight there?"

"No. There will be a hearing before the Wizengamot, most likely on Monday. They do not like to draw these things out."

"Then it is not a foregone conclusion?"

"They have all the evidence they need. They know a Cruciatus curse came from my wand at eleven o'clock last night."

Silence again. Tears once more streamed down her face. She could not lose him now. They had only just found each other.

"I will fight for you. I will not let them send you there."

"There is nothing that can be done." He sounded remarkably calm, but his voice held an emptiness which filled her with utter desolation.

They remained clasped together in silence, both unwilling to sleep. Occasionally Lucius would shudder, and a deep gasping breath would rattle through him. Hermione pressed herself as tight to him as she could, as if trying to absorb as much of his suffering as possible.

At one point a slight cry rose out of him, which sent a shoot of pain through her heart. She leant over him, stroking his face and hair, soothing him as best she could. He looked over at her, his eyes filled with desperation and terror. She could hardly control her agony on seeing it. He breathed out to her, staring deep into her eyes. "I do not want to go back there."

She grasped him tight, her tears streaming over his body. They lay entwined, hardly moving.

A thin grey light started to creep through the shutters, and Hermione's heart felt as if it had been removed from her soul.

Then, from far down at the front of the house they heard a loud banging. Someone was knocking harshly on the front door.

A cry of desolation rose from Hermione's chest and filled the room. Lucius stroked her hair, whispering, "Shh..."

There was a gentle knock on the door and Tibby's tremulous face appeared, afraid and uncertain. "Master?"

"It is alright, Tibby. I am coming."

He rose from the bed, dressing as elegantly as ever. Hermione was by his side, touching him, stroking him, unable to be separated. Neither said a word. There was a loud, stern voice from downstairs.

"Malfoy!"

He turned to her. "I have to go. Stay up here. Do not let them know you are here. It would make life very difficult for you." He reached down to her, locking eyes, and kissed her deeply and hungrily, as if trying to imprint her on his soul. She gasped into him, unable to bear it.

He broke away, his face utterly bereft. She clung to his hand, trying to pull him back. "I will fight for you. I won't let them get you. I won't let it happen. I love you. I love you." Tears streamed down her face.

He looked down at her so tenderly it made her agony even worse. Once again he cupped her face and looked deep into her eyes, searing her soul. He started to speak gently, "I l ..."

"Malfoy! We are coming up!"

"I must go." He broke away finally, not looking back at her, grabbed his wand, and was gone from the room, closing the door behind him. She heard a brief conversation downstairs, footsteps leading out, the heavy front door slamming, then silence.

She screamed deeply into the room. A scream of frustration, pain and desolation far more agonising than any of the screams that had escaped her under Bellatrix.

Hermione stayed in the room all day and all night, unable to eat, think, exist. Her mind was blank, and the desolation that swept over her unfathomable. Tibby brought her food, which she ignored, sitting clasping her arms round her drawn up knees, rocking back and forth.

Saturday night passed in dark confusion and lonely terror. How different to what she had imagined as their first weekend together at the manor. But then, as Sunday morning slowly dawned her mind finally seemed to reawaken slightly, and she realised if she was to achieve anything, she must act swiftly and decisively. With vast effort, driven by her love and need, she managed to shake herself out of the stupor which had engulfed her, and tuned back into the forceful personality she was. She rose from the bed, dressed and managed to eat a little of the food Tibby had left. Then she went downstairs, telling the house-elf she was walking to the village.

She strode forcibly down the lanes and reached the local village. The shop was open and she walked in and bought several newspapers. The walk did her good, and an idea started to form in her mind as she marched back, the sweet summer air reminding her that life was still there for the taking.

When she got back to the manor, she walked into the dining room and spread the papers on the table before her. She started looking through them, but was rewarded almost instantly. In some of the tabloids, the headlines screamed across the front page. "Hunt for Park Rapist Finally at End".

Her heart leapt and she read on.

'_A man was arrested on Friday night in Hyde Park for the suspected rape of fifteen women over a period of three years in parks across London. Police say they received an anonymous phone call at approximately 11:15 pm from a woman informing them that a man had tried to rape her at knifepoint, but she had defended herself and that they would find the man injured in a particular location in the park. The man was discovered there by police a few minutes later. His leg was broken and he had suffered various other injuries. He was found in a state of confusion and distress, hardly able to speak, but once officers arrived, calmed down, giving no further information and giving himself up freely._

_The police suspect that this is also the man who murdered Sue Birch in 1994 and Tina Blackly in 1998, and are declaring the arrest a great success for the Met. The Chief Constable said,'We firmly believe we have at last apprehended a highly dangerous individual who had been able to prey on innocent women for too long. The man has confessed already to several rapes and attempted rapes, and we have little doubt that he will be behind bars for the rest of his life. We appeal to the young lady who called us yesterday to come forward. We stress that she is in no way under suspicion of any wrongdoing herself, it is clear she acted in self-defence, but it would help with our enquiries to speak to her and to find out if she is alright."'_

Hermione sighed deeply. At least justice had been done at one end. She felt a slight anxiety for the first time of the extreme danger she had been in two nights before. She realised that if Lucius had not acted so decisively, they both may well have been killed.

The newspaper made her realise she had a chance to save him. It was abundantly clear that he had done the world a huge favour by ridding them of this horrific, vile individual. Surely the Wizengamot would take that into account.

She read the rest of the articles on the rapist and her mind cleared further. A plan started to form in her head. She understood enough about Wizarding Law to know that all was not lost.

The rest of the day passed swiftly as she thought through her ideas carefully. She would take a risk. It was a big risk, with horrific consequences if it backfired, but they were consequences she was willing to hazard.

She sent an owl to Kingsley, telling him that she had heard Lucius Malfoy had been arrested and as she felt responsible for his rehabilitation, could he please inform her as to when his hearing was to take place.

She received a reply within a couple of hours. She grabbed the parchment desperately and read it.

'_Dear Hermione,_

_As I'm sure you are aware, it is not permitted to disclose details about arrests and hearings, but as this is pertaining to an individual with whom you have been working closely, I am willing to keep you informed._

_Mr Malfoy was arrested for using the Cruciatus curse against a Muggle on Friday night. He says he was alone at the time, although acknowledges that you and he went out for a meal and a recital earlier in the evening as part of his programme. By the time of the attack, you had left him and he was walking through the park when the man attacked at knife point. Mr Malfoy says he retaliated merely in self-defence, but as I'm sure you are aware, the use of an Unforgivable Curse for any reason is entirely illegal._

_Mr Malfoy's hearing is due to take place tomorrow at 10am. Due to the circumstances surrounding the enquiry, I will allow you to sit in on it, and you may well be called as a witness._

_This is a most regrettable occurrence, as both you and I were so optimistic and pleased with Mr Malfoy's progress. Admittedly, the attack occurred against a vile individual, but we can only uphold the law as it stands._

_With best wishes_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt'_

On the whole, the letter eased Hermione's mind somewhat. She could go officially to the hearing, and may well be a witness. She detected a sense of regret in Kingsley's tone, and he at least acknowledged that the man in question basically deserved what he got. She wondered briefly why Lucius had told them that he was alone in the park. She supposed that he must have thought a late night stroll through a romantic area would imply more than mere professional dealings. She realised that, particularly in the light of his trial, he believed their relationship should still remain a secret. She could only respect his opinion under the circumstances.

But still there was no firm solution. The Minister insisted the law must be upheld. Her mood did not lighten, but she was determined on her course of action.

The evening came. She ate downstairs in the kitchen, inviting Tibby to join her. The elf did not quite know how to react, but they were both welcome of the company. Hermione was touched to see the elf's genuine concern for her master. "Don't worry, Tibby. Mr Malfoy will come back."

She smiled at the elf, but both knew her words meant little.

Hermione went to bed early, an acute sense of emptiness pervading the room and her soul as she lay in the huge bed without him. She realised more than ever how desperately she loved and needed this man. She would stop at nothing to save him. Her mind flicked agonisingly back to their parting and the words which had been on his lips before he was interrupted. Surely he was going to say it? It seemed obvious that is what he had intended, but she dared not hope. She would wait to hear it properly.

She turned over in bed, determined to sleep in order to be fresh and ready for tomorrow, for him. She was all he had.

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**Until tomorrow ... x**

**Let me know what you thought.**


	33. Thirty Three: Explanations

**Here we are - I hate to keep you hanging on too long!**

**Thank you for all the kind, kind reviews. Please keep them coming if you can.**

**So - what will transpire ...?**

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Thirty Three – Explanations

She rose early, showering and dressing immaculately for him. Managing to eat some breakfast, she bid farewell to Tibby with something approaching a smile of reassurance and apparated to the Ministry. She went straight to the Wizengamot chamber where most of the Council were already assembled. A slight hush descended as she walked in and took her seat, but she held her head proudly. Obviously the gossip mongers had been hard at work already. She didn't care less.

As she sat down, Kingsley came up to her almost immediately. He held her hand and looked deep into her eyes, genuine regret and concern evident in them. "Hermione. Are you alright?" He was no fool. He knew how much she was hurting. She managed a weak smile and nodded at him. He continued. "You are to be called as a witness. Just speak the truth, my dear, that is all we ask. We know you are an honourable person."

She lowered her head, unable to look at him anymore. He squeezed her hand and left her. Hermione sat feeling alone and uncertain, wondering if she would be able to stem the tears constantly threatening to overflow. Her eyes scanned the witches and wizards sitting around her. They were an inscrutable lot, who certainly bore no love for the Malfoys. Her heart sank further.

Just then another wizard, clad in the purple robes of the Wizengamot came in, younger than the rest. It was Harry. She gasped. How could she have forgotten he was now on the Council? Her eyes met his and he set his mouth awkwardly, before lowering his gaze. He must have realised who it was had precipitated her leaving Ron. Her insides flipped, but she still felt little shame.

At ten o'clock exactly the court rose and the Chief Warlock entered, followed by Kingsley. Hermione had only ever met the Chief Warlock, a highly respected wizard called Quirinius Trench, once or twice briefly, but knew him to be a straightforward, decent man. He spoke swiftly and clearly. "The Wizengamot is in session to hear the case of Lucius Malfoy, accused of using the Cruciatus curse against a Muggle last Friday evening. Please bring in the accused."

Hermione wondered if she would pass out as the doors from the cells opened. But as soon as she saw him she knew she would be alright. His face had adopted his usual haughty demeanour and she was reassured by his ability to remain so calm and proud. His face rose to look at her as he passed, and a deep connection briefly passed between them. Her heart swelled. She knew what she had to do, and being a witness meant it would be easy.

Lucius stood upright and tall in the centre of the room, still a commanding presence in the vast chamber.

Trench began.

"Lucius Malfoy. You are accused of using the Cruciatus curse against a fellow human being last Friday night. As you know, by Wizarding Law, such an act results in a life-sentence in Azkaban. How do you plead?"

"Guilty." He spoke calmly and clearly. Hermione despaired that he seemed so resigned to his fate, although knew the evidence that the curse had been used from his wand was indisputable.

Trench continued. "Your version of events is as follows: Following a meal and a music recital accompanied by Miss Hermione Granger as part of your rehabilitation programme, you bid farewell to Miss Granger and continued walking through Hyde Park. A man then jumped out at you and held you at knife point, you used the Sectumsempre, Expelliarmus and Alerte Ascendare spells on him, but still he attacked you, at which point you used the Cruciatus curse."

"That is correct."

"We have been in close contact with the Chief Constable of the Metropolitan Police over this. For his part, he is delighted that such a heinous criminal, who managed to remain undetected for so long, has finally been apprehended, and can see no reason why you should be sent to prison for it. But our law is different. If we start to ignore or bend it now, our whole world becomes fragile.

"We are unable to call Muggles as witnesses, but in any case, the man is saying virtually nothing about how he came by his injuries. He has merely said that he 'fell'. He is also saying that he wishes to stay in prison for as long as he possibly can. He is in a state of some distress, apparently, which is understandable to us, but has certainly been a mystery to the Muggles.

"Anyway, returning to you, Mr Malfoy, there are certain inconsistencies in your story that I do not understand. For a start, I am not sure why this individual attacked you. You are, after all, not a woman. This man only every preyed on females."

Lucius shrugged slightly before replying laconically, "Perhaps it is because I am so pretty."

The Council laughed, and even Hermione smiled slightly to herself at his dryly arrogant wit.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy," Trench said wryly, "but it is curious, do you not think? And then there is the fact of the phone call from a woman claiming to have nearly been raped at knifepoint and giving the exact location of the attack and details of the injuries of the man."

Lucius said nothing.

"I call as a witness, Miss Hermione Granger."

Hermione's heart dropped to her stomach. She rose slowly and descended to the floor, standing across from Lucius. He did not turn to look at her, but she could feel his presence burning beside her.

"Miss Granger, at what time did you leave Mr Malfoy on Friday night?"

"I ... I cannot remember exactly."

"Sometime after the recital?"

"I ... I don't know ..."

"Miss Granger, surely you can remember that?"

Hermione raised her head strongly and stared straight at Trench. "I didn't leave Mr Malfoy."

A murmur of confusion filled the chamber. Hermione could detect Lucius breathing more rapidly across from her.

"Excuse me?"

"I ... didn't leave him. I was with him in the park."

"You went into the park with him?"

"Yes."

"Surely there was no need to accompany him any further? A meal and a music recital are more than adequate instruction in the ways of muggles for one evening."

A slight chuckle swept round the chamber, followed by an expectant silence.

Hermione glanced briefly at Lucius. He remained staring straight ahead.

"We both needed some fresh air after the recital. That is all." She lowered her head, feeling a blush spreading up her cheeks. Kingsley was looking at her very intently.

"Were you with him at the time of the attack?" The Minister for Magic leaned across and queried firmly, but did not sound particularly surprised. Hermione continued clearly and strongly.

"Yes."

The atmosphere in the chamber was tensely poised now. Trench raised his eyebrows expectantly, inviting Hermione to continue. She did.

"Mr Malfoy had just moved away from me for a moment. I stood waiting for him. The man grabbed _me_, forcing me down at knife point. He had the knife pressed against my throat and ... he tried to rape me ... I was the one who made the phone call."

Murmurings sounded round the chamber. Trench silenced them with his hand.

"Then why did Mr Malfoy tell us the man attacked him alone?"

Hermione looked down momentarily then raised her head to meet Trench's eyes.

"Because he is trying to protect me."

Further gasps.

"Protect you from what?

"The truth of that night coming out."

"It is an honourable thing for Mr Malfoy to try to prevent the fact that you were so brutally attacked from getting out, but the facts remain, it now seems, that you were attacked by this man, and Mr Malfoy used various curses, culminating in the Cruciatus curse to protect you. Is that now correct?"

Silence.

"Miss Granger?"

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr Malfoy did not use the spells."

Trench and the other High Warlocks and Witches looked at her in confusion. She continued.

"I did."

Audible gasps echoed around the chamber, followed by murmurings and whisperings.

"Silence!" Trench called loudly.

"Miss Granger, are you saying _you_ used the Cruciatus curse on Friday night?"

"Yes."

She looked straight ahead. She could feel his heat emanating towards her, although he was several paces away.

"But we registered the curse coming from Mr Malfoy's wand," Kingsley interjected.

"I had left my wand at the office. Mr Malfoy had leant me his in order to protect myself quickly should the need arise. He said a witch should never be out at night without a wand, even if accompanied. The need clearly did arise."

She resisted the urge to glance at him, flushing slightly at the compliment (albeit invented) that she had paid him. She knew, however, that he had turned to look at her.

"Could you please describe, although I realise it must be difficult, what exactly happened?"

"I have dealt with many difficult situations in my time, Mr Trench, as I'm sure you are aware. The man lay on top of me, reaching down to my legs. I could feel the knife pressing into me. You can see the cut on my throat." She raised her head up, exposing her neck, a clear red line was visible. It looked angry in the harsh light. A gasp sounded from the Council.

"Luckily, I managed to extract my hand from behind me. He had gagged me and had tried to tie my hands behind me, but had not succeeded. I was able to just grab the wand from my pocket and force the gag far enough out of my mouth to shout the first curse, which hit his face twice."

"Sectumsempre?"

"That is correct."

"It put him off for a while, but then he was after me again with the knife, so I used Expelliarmus and Alerte Ascendare to get him away from me again. I knew I could not have him coming after me again so I let him fall to the ground, aware that he may break a limb and wishing to leave him immobile."

"Where was Mr Malfoy at this time?"

"This all happened very quickly. Mr Malfoy was still engaged elsewhere." She did not want to embarrass him in front of the Council, although there was no reason for him to be ashamed.

"Doing what exactly?"

"He was ... answering the call of nature."

Trench looked down, a blush spreading across his face.

"I see."

"Anyway, the man was clearly very determined and as I leant down to check that he was immobile but not seriously injured, he grabbed me once again and made some deeply offensive sexual remarks. It angered me greatly and I suddenly became aware that he could still hurt me. I had previously used the Expelliarmus spell to disarm him, but I had not realised he had landed close to his knife when he had fallen and now he held it once again to my throat. His pain spurred his anger on and I knew he could try to kill me.

"A spell ... curse ... came to my mind. It was a word I had heard repeatedly in times of the deepest pain and suffering ... _my _pain ... and I knew exactly what it would do ... I don't know ... the extreme danger of the situation, and the vile nature of the man and what he was trying to do to me ... that is the curse that came out of my mouth. I doubt very much if I would have used it had I not heard it used on me over and over again ... but there we are ... I am sorry."

The court listened in silence. She could hear Lucius breathing heavily next to her. She did not look at him.

At length, Trench sighed deeply, unsure how to proceed.

"Miss Granger, if this is true, you know what the law dictates?"

"Yes." She spoke clearly, without a hint of wavering. "You can check Mr Malfoy's wand. You will find I have handled it recently. And you will find my own wand still in my office. I have not been there since Friday afternoon. I'm sure that can be verified."

Trench looked at a loss for what to do. He turned to Kingsley, who could offer no help.

"Well. It is clear that at least one of you is lying. But I confess to being at a loss to know how to sort this out."

"Miss Granger is lying. I used the curse." Lucius spoke suddenly from next to her, his voice clear and smooth.

She spun to look at him. He was staring straight ahead.

There were more murmurings around the chamber. Trench brought his hand slowly up and removed his spectacles, before leaning in to look closely at Lucius.

"But you see, Mr Malfoy. If Miss Granger is lying, that would mean that she is trying to protect _you_. You, a former Death Eater, who looked on while she was tortured by your own sister-in-law. Why on earth would _she_ protect _you_?"

Hermione stared at Lucius, her mouth open in anticipation of what he would say. He did not answer for a long time and the Council thought he would not. They started to shuffle discontentedly. Then at last, his words came, smooth and frank.

"Because we are lovers."

The gasping murmurs travelled swiftly round the room again. Harry hung his head silently. Hermione could not take her eyes off Lucius. He had revealed his relationship with her, knowing that he risked alienating his son, risked Azkaban, in front of the highest court of wizards in order to protect her, yet again. She gazed at him, having to force herself to stop from running over and clasping him to her.

Trench spoke calmly but seriously, "Miss Granger. Is this true?"

Hermione could still not take her eyes from her lover and heard herself speaking the simple truth to the Wizengamot, "Yes."

But then reality crushed onto her mind. How would the Council take the news? To them, it would now make sense that she would lie for him. The extent of their behaviour in the chamber hit her. They were both willing to go to Azkaban for the other.

Trench struggled to bring order, but then spoke slowly and clearly. "We seem to have reached an impasse. I will adjourn with my learned Council and we will discuss how to proceed. Please take Mr Malfoy back to the cells.

"Miss Granger, it is with a heavy heart that I have to tell you that you too must spend the time in the cells, due to the nature of your testimony. I am sorry."

Lucius left first, glancing at her briefly on the way past, a look of tender astonishment on his face, reflected entirely in her own.

She followed him out, but was bereft to see they were taken in opposite directions. She sat alone in a small cell for several hours. Her brain hurt.

His revelation of their relationship had shocked and awed her, but she had little room in her mind to think too much about it. She was trying desperately to work out what decision the Council would reach, but she could not see what course of action could possibly be taken. All she begged for was that he would be spared the horror he no longer deserved, and that somehow they would find mercy on her, due to her extraordinary past.

After what seemed an age, she was summoned again and led back up to the Chamber. He was already there, catching her eye briefly as she passed him.

Trench and the High Council entered. She could read nothing on his face. He began solemnly.

"Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger. You have provided us with conflicting testimonies, which we find impossible to distinguish as truth or lies. The remarkable thing is that both your accounts exonerate the other person. Never can I remember defendants so readily sacrificing themselves for the other. It is ... humbling to us all.

"We can also see clearly that the result of your actions last Friday night has only been positive. The Muggle world is over the moon that this man has finally been caught. I daresay, the single use of the Cruciatus curse is nothing compared to the pain, suffering and anguish he has inflicted on his victims and their families over the years. Although, we must remember, it is not for us to take the law into our own hands. Still, under the circumstances, and remembering both of your past histories, as self-defence, I will even go so far as to say it was ... understandable.

"Mr Malfoy, Miss Granger has frequently conveyed to Mr Shacklebolt how pleased she is with your progress, and, apart from this unfortunate occurrence, he has seen nothing to contradict her perceptions.

"And, at the end of all this, we are left with two people, who seem so genuinely devoted to each other that they are willing to sacrifice their freedom for the other. Surely that alone mitigates the charge. I cannot tell, and certainly cannot prove who spoke that curse, and therefore I risk sending an innocent person to Azkaban, something none of us is prepared to do. Our laws are there to protect us. They are of no use if they only lead to miscarriages of justice and travesty. We have considered using Veritaserum, but this should only be used as a last resort, and, we have concluded that it would only have exarcerbated the difficult decisions we faced. Therefore we have reached a decision."

He sighed deeply before continuing resolutely.

"My learned Council and I have concluded that this hearing is a farce. Neither of you should even be here. Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger. I apologise for putting you through this. You are both free to go."

A gasp echoed through the chamber. Lucius and Hermione stood stock still, reeling from the shock of his words. Applause started to break out, sporadically at first, then building in strength, until it resounded around the room.

Hermione and Lucius turned to look at each other, their eyes burning with relief and shock.

Neither moved for the longest while, the applause and cheers still resounding around them. Then suddenly, Lucius crossed to her, took her head in his hands and kissed her long and deep. All else disappeared around her and she was focused solely on the man before her, kissing, stroking, caressing her.

When they finally broke apart, she beamed up at him. His eyes danced and he grabbed her and lifted her up towards him. He threw his head back, his mouth opened in delight and he laughed, long and loud. The extraordinary sound was like a thousand crystals falling from the heavens. She had never heard anything so breathtaking in her life.

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**So there we are.**

**Still, I'm sure not everyone will react so positively to the news ...**

**Let me know what you think.**

**x**


	34. Thirty Four: Homecoming

**Well, after the excitement of yesterday, this one is a bit more sedate ... well ... the bit in the middle is anyway, not sure if you can call the rest 'sedate'! You'll see what I mean!**

**Thank you so much for the lovely reviews of the last chapter. You didn't think I'd be so cruel as to send him to Azkaban, did you? I'm too in love with the guy to do that!**

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Thirty Four – Homecoming

They stayed clasped together in the middle of the chamber for ages, gazing at each other, the relief of being cleared of the charges heightened by the unexpected release of tension at the disclosure of their relationship. Lucius could not stop smiling. It was such an unusual sight for Hermione that his euphoria transmitted straight to her, filling her with such joy she thought she may lift off.

People buzzed around them, but they were oblivious, focused solely on each other. After the longest while, Hermione became aware of something touching her shoulder, and a voice. "Hermione."

She turned towards it. It was Kingsley. She moved reluctantly away from Lucius and smiled gently at the Minister for Magic. "Thank you," she breathed, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly. "It was the right decision. I'm glad. You have nothing to thank me for." Then he turned to Lucius, his expression serious. "Malfoy."

Lucius looked at him, his mouth straight but his eyes still glowing.

"You got away with it today, Lucius. If _anything_ like this happens again ... you won't be so lucky." Lucius did not react. Shacklebolt continued, looking briefly at Hermione before turning back to Lucius. "I hope you deserve her."

Hermione took Lucius' hand, a gesture not lost on Shacklebolt, who turned and left the Chamber.

Lucius looked down at her, almost seeking reassurance. She met his gaze boldly and spoke with equal conviction, "You do."

Another figure approached them, his face tense and uncertain. It was Harry. Nobody spoke for a while, then Harry managed to say, "How are you, Hermione?"

She looked deeply at him and spoke the honest truth. "At this particular moment, Harry, I am happier than I have ever been in my life."

Harry swallowed hard, unable to deny Hermione's clear joy and determination.

"You never cease to amaze me, Hermione Granger." He managed a small smile.

"Long may it continue," she answered warmly.

Harry turned to Lucius.

"Malfoy." He could not look him in the eye.

"Potter." Lucius spoke clearly, but Hermione could detect the clear antagonism in his voice. It was a vicious reminder of the complicated relationship she now found herself openly in.

"Look after her, Malfoy." Harry spoke coldly.

Hermione thought he would turn and leave, but suddenly he instead stepped in to Lucius, at last looking him straight in the eye. "If she is hurt in any way, I will personally ensure your life is not worth living."

Lucius' mouth twitched, and he stared down at Harry with clear disdain. "Dignified as ever, Potter," he drawled. Hermione felt she had stepped back five years in time. She sensed Harry tense and moved quickly between them.

"Harry. This is what I want. I know what it must seem like to you, but you must believe in me. You _must_." She took his hand and looked deep into his eyes. Harry could not bear to meet hers and lowered his gaze.

"I'll be in touch," he mumbled.

"So will I ... soon ... I need to sort things out at the flat and with ..." her voice trailed off.

"Yeah ... yeah ... you do ..." He at last looked at her. Now it was Hermione's turn to lower her gaze. They both had things to be ashamed of.

"Bye, Hermione," Harry smiled gently at her, glanced stiffly at Lucius, then left.

It was Lucius' turn to take her hand. She watched Harry leave then raised her eyes to his. He smiled down at her gently and she returned his smile. Then she spoke firmly, "Take me home."

He led her out of the chamber, the eyes of many still on them, and they apparated to the Manor as soon as they were outside.

They arrived back in the hallway and stood in shock at the day's events for a while, neither able to move. Hermione suddenly felt a crushing tiredness descend over her and, rubbing Lucius' arm briefly, she turned into the sitting room to sit down.

Tibby was overjoyed to have them both back safe and brought in a large spread of food for them to eat. Neither initially felt like eating anything, but eventually managed to pick at a few things. The euphoria of earlier had subsided, and the magnitude of the hearing, what they had said in each other's defence, and the revealing of their relationship seemed to sink in.

"Does this change things?" Hermione suddenly asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied, his voice low.

"It's not illicit anymore ... furtive, desperate. Do you think it will make a difference?"

"No."

"You sound certain."

"I am. I hadn't realised how relieved I would be. And now ... I can start living again." He looked down at her, stroking her hair away from her face as he did at his most tender moments.

She lay her head on his shoulder and he placed his arm around her, pulling her in to him. She gazed at the fire flickering before them. The room, not a large one anyway, looked cosy and almost ridiculously comforting in the warm light. Her mind flicked briefly to Ron. He would be feeling awful, but she knew she could not live her life based on the guilt of how she made someone feel. She reached over for an apple, feeling her arm twinge with fatigue. Her limbs ached and her mind clouded.

"Lucius, I'm going to have to have a sleep. I can't keep my eyes open."

"I understand. It's only seven o'clock. Do you want to wake up later?"

"I probably will. Don't worry. Let's play it by ear."

She reached up and lightly kissed him on the mouth. He caught her head and pulled her back towards him, sinking himself into her mouth. She moaned slightly into him, increasing his passion. She smiled, a slight laugh escaping her into his open lips. "I really must go upstairs. I'll fall asleep at a crucial moment if we start anything now."

He gazed at her, a smile playing around his mouth, then released his hold on her. "Go on then. I'll be waiting."

She ran one finger down his cheek to his lips. He kissed the tip lightly, then she rose and left the room, walking wearily up the stairs to the bedroom. She only just managed to take off her outer clothes before sinking onto the bed and falling into the deepest sleep she had had for a long while.

After what must have been two or three hours, she woke, that strange mixture of warm satisfaction and heavy relaxation you feel after a long nap seeping through her.

She stretched leisurely and glanced at the time, it was half past nine. The night was young, she thought wryly to herself.

She continued to lie there for a while, looking around the room. The proportions were good, the decor was beautiful but comforting, the bed was elegant; it had everything she wanted or needed. She felt completely at home.

At length she rose and dressed casually in jeans and a blue top. She slipped on her pumps and headed downstairs to look for him. She could find him nowhere. Going into the kitchen she found Tibby. "Tibby, do you know where Mister Malfoy is?"

"Certainly, Miss. Follow me."

She smiled curiously at the elf and followed her out of the kitchen and down a long corridor which Hermione had not noticed before. She supposed there must be many parts of the house which remained undiscovered. The corridor seemed to lead to a more recent extension. There was a large conservatory to one side, and then some steps leading down.

"Through there, Miss." Tibby indicated for Hermione to enter a doorway. She turned through it and found herself in a beautiful, large mosaiced room adorned with pillars and colonnades.

It was an indoor swimming pool, and moving leisurely but smoothly through the water was Lucius.

Wall lights surrounded by frosted glass threw their illumination onto the water, which in turn sparkled and reflected it back up onto the walls and ceilings. Hermione smiled broadly, almost laughing out loud. What more surprises could she expect?

Tibby spoke gently at her side, "Miss?" Hermione turned to look down at her. The elf indicated a two piece swimming costume and towel.

"Thank you, Tibby," she smiled down to her. The elf swiftly left her alone.

Lucius had not noticed her arrival and Hermione hung back in the corner of the doorway for a while, watching him. His sculpted body cut through the water effortlessly with hardly a ripple, and the light reflected off his wet back, making it seem smoother and firmer than ever. It took her breath away.

Silently, she removed her clothes and put on the bikini. It fitted perfectly, of course, and showed off her slender curves immaculately.

She tiptoed to the nearest edge of the pool and dived in smoothly, swimming low under the water towards him.

Lucius turned swiftly round to the noise of the splash but initially could see nothing. Then his eye made out a pale shape heading towards him under the water and he smiled.

Hermione swam all the way to him, then rose up as she reached him, breaking the surface with a laughing gasp of delight. They embraced and kissed deeply. When they finally moved apart, she smiled at him, "Why didn't you tell me you had a swimming pool?"

"I can't reveal all my surprises at once, can I now?"

"Have you got anything else up your sleeve?"

"Always," he smiled deliciously. "I am a wizard after all."

She threw her head back and laughed at his cheesy humour. The sound echoed round the tiled walls, like a thousand tiny bells. It filled him with such joy and longing for her that he thought his soul may burst.

She threw herself back into the water, doing an elegant backstroke towards the other end of the pool. He followed her a short distance behind, then quickened his strokes and reached her suddenly, pulling her feet back towards him. She squealed in surprise, laughing as he caught her into him, running his firm hands along her body under the water. Even in the cool water, she felt her skin tingling under his touch and the fire ignited within her.

They kissed, long and deep, their tongues languorously twirling, twisting, tasting. His hands continued to explore her body and her legs came up round him, clinging to him. She felt him hard and insistent between her legs, and her belly churned with longing. The water held her up, supporting her weight around him, and he clasped her buttocks firmly into him, groaning as he plied them with his fingers and felt her pressed against his iron hardness.

She threw her head back, arching her neck for him to taste. He complied, sucking and nipping his way down until he reached her collarbone. Another moan sounded from her and she reached up to his head, pulling him down into her flesh. He reached around her back, swiftly undoing the clasps on her top and letting it float away from them.

Her breasts swayed slightly in the water and the coolness made her nipples immediately stand up, rigid points demanding attention. He glanced down and saw them. His hand grabbed one, lifting it so that the nipple rose just above the water, and he lowered his head swiftly to take it in his mouth. He sucked forcefully, swirling the sensitive bud of flesh around his tongue while kneading the breast in his hand. She cried out with the pleasure coursing from his mouth to her soaking core and pressed herself ever more urgently against him, revelling in the rock hard swelling she could feel pushing between her legs. This in turn caused him to groan against her nipple. He moved his teeth roughly over it, before letting it pop out of the side of his mouth, then turned to the other and repeated his exquisite torment. Hermione's fingers twisted in his wet hair, clasping him ever more to her, urging him to tug, pull, assault the nipple. He complied, finally biting down on it and eliciting a cry of agonised pleasure from her. The cry turned into a groan of desperation and she breathed into the humid air, her voice resounding around them. "Come into me now ... now ... you must ... _fill me_ ... want you ... Lucius ..._now!_"

Her words brought a groan from deep within his throat and he could hold back no longer. Reaching under the water he pulled down her bikini pants and walked back with her so that she was pushed against the side of the pool. She in turn pulled his trunks off and they both raised their legs, floating but still clasped together, and wriggled out of the clothes. Then in one swift movement he plunged straight into her to the hilt, causing her eyes to snap open and another cry to be torn from her depths. Their preparation had been hasty and his size once again shocked her. He started to move rapidly, the buoyancy of the water allowing him to slide easily into her, as she was supported both by it and her position wedged against the side of the pool.

There was an insistence to his thrusts which took her by surprise, but only fuelled her desire and need for release. She dragged her head back down to look at him and found his eyes closed in blissful concentration. She stretched her arms out round his neck. He caught her clit with each movement, such was their perfect position in the water and she felt the tension building deep in her centre, her muscles preparing for the fall. It made her head swim and she longed to connect further with him. Summoning her wits about her, she moaned out to him, "Look at me ... _look at me_ ...want you ... _to look_ ..."

He opened his eyes slowly, his mouth instead falling open and a groan of near fulfilment emerging. Their eyes locked and her wave broke. She came desperately, her limbs convulsing in the water around him, a scream of ecstasy forced from her throat and echoing off the hard walls. He followed almost immediately as her orgasm squeezed his cock and he spasmed deep inside her, his own groan of triumph muffled by him burying his mouth against her breast as he throbbed within.

Afterwards she lay panting, her back stretched out against the side of the pool, arms splayed to the sides, her head lolling idly, eyes closed in remembered bliss, her legs still clasping him deep within her. He twitched and jerked inside her as the last remnants of his pleasure dispersed, each movement eliciting a moan of gratification from her. They could stay like that forever.

He gazed deep into her eyes, unable to tear himself from hers, and clasped her so tight she found it hard to breathe. He spoke, so quiet she could hardly hear him. "Thank you."

It took her slightly by surprise. "What for?"

"Have you forgotten already?"

"You mean the hearing?" She smiled tenderly at him.

"Yes. That ... and you."

She said nothing, but leant in and kissed him deeply once again.

At length the water and air became chilly around them, and he slowly withdrew from her, both of them sighing with the physical emptiness which suddenly ensued. He drew his hands up her body and encircling her fingers in his, pulled her to him and moved them both towards the steps. They climbed out slowly and wrapped their towels around them. Then, with their last vestige of energy, they made their way upstairs and climbed into bed, consciousness escaping them immediately, their limbs entwined as the deepest sleep overcame them both.

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**Swimming pool + Lucius = Heaven!**

**;)**

**Let me know what you think ...**

**Until tomorrow ... not everyone is as magnanimous as Harry or Kingsley ...**

**x**


	35. Thirty Five: Ramifications

**Well, who'll come calling at Malfoy Manor, I wonder ...? Not before a little catching up on the lost weekend, however ... who's a naughty girl, then?**

**Thanks, as ever, for lovely reviews ... oh, and I guess I should mention, I still own nobody, not even Jason Isaacs, and at least he's real! (Grrrrrrr ...)**

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Thirty Five – Ramifications

They slept long through the night, their usual semi-conscious couplings abandoned as relieved exhaustion carried them both far away. Hermione woke first in the morning and turned gently towards him, enchanted to find him next to her, still asleep. She lay staring at him, his face so peaceful and content in the gentle light. Her desire to reach out and touch his cheek vied with her need to simply gaze in undisturbed awe at this man who had terrified her, thrilled her and made her adore him so entirely.

She thought about their journey together. This journey of discovery, both of each other and of themselves. Would she ever have been fulfilled without him? Would she have realised what life was truly about if they had not found each other? She knew the answer and could hold herself back no longer from reaching over and tenderly running the tips of her fingers over his carved cheekbone.

He inhaled deeply and suddenly, but his eyes remained shut. She withdrew her hand slightly, guilty that she may wake him, but smiling at the beautiful sight before her. He breathed in deeply again, and rolled onto his back, his far arm stretching up and over his head.

At length, she felt something touch her belly and realised his other hand had moved to her. He pressed down firmly but tenderly and rubbed slightly, his fingers caressing her silken skin. His eyes remained closed.

She moved subconsciously up the bed so his fingers were closer to the aching spot between her legs, rubbing herself along the sheets and turning her head into the downy pillow. Immediately, her skin was alight and she felt the wetness spreading from her depths. Apart from the movement of his hand, he may as well have been asleep.

His fingers quested lower, finding her damp folds, but avoiding the tantalizing nub she so wanted him to touch. She tried to remain still, enjoying the secret intimacy between them, but her body craved more and she involuntarily arched her back, trying to increase the pressure between her legs.

He complied, curling his fingers so that two slipped into her, circling around her inner walls. A slight gasp escaped her and he stroked ever more deliciously. Her flesh was alight and she sought her release, so swiftly had he ignited her. She thrashed her head over to face him, her eyes darting open in lust. He remained as before, eyes closed, features immobile.

His deliberate refusal to acknowledge her while fingering her so exquisitely drove her mad and the deepest groan was finally rent from her throat. He revealed nothing in his face but his fingers took on a new urgency. He drew them out from inside her and swept fluidly up her soaking folds, finding her clit at last. He circled and teased it, bringing it electrically close to release. She thought there must surely be a real, tangible flame there, such was the pinpoint of sensation he had drawn out. His fingers swept down then up one final time before returning to that electric bud and she screamed. Every muscle in her body spasmed, the pleasure radiating instantly out from that exquisite point. She had no control over herself as her limbs twitched deliriously in rapture. His hand remained pressed firmly against her core, almost fused to her through her pleasure.

She eventually calmed and settled, her breathing heavy but regular again. He amazed her with his ability to draw such pleasure from her with merely one or two fingers. She turned to look at him. Still, he remained resolutely impassive, eyes closed.

She breathed his name softly, hesitantly. "Lucius?"

At first he did not respond. Surely he could not be asleep. She spoke again. "_Lucius?"_

He inhaled as if surprised and turned to her, opening his eyes blearily and raising an eyebrow. "Hmm?" he queried as if disturbed.

She knew he must be teasing and reached over and tweaked his nipple suddenly. He did not even flinch, but a smirk overcame his face and he said quite firmly, knowing he had deserved it, "Ow."

She grinned at him, leaning over and planting a gentle kiss on the nipple she had just abused. He suddenly drew his arm around her and pulled her in tight to him.

"Hello," he breathed against her hair.

She smiled onto his smooth chest. "Hello," she replied tenderly.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked warmly.

"Be inside you."

She closed her eyes and breathed him in. If she could melt into his body she would. She raised her leg idly, rubbing it along his thigh until she could draw it up no further – it was stopped by his erect member, hard and vibrant. Her hand brushed down his torso and her fingers flickered over the tip, causing him to arch slightly towards her.

She turned her head to his velvety skin, kissing, licking over its pale splendour, and simultaneously moved herself over him, not taking her mouth from his torso. Then in one smooth, slow but fluid movement she lowered herself completely onto him. He moaned deeply but softly, his face twisting in an expression akin to pain, but which she knew to be exquisite delight.

Continuing her tasting of his upper body she started to raise and lower herself deliciously on him. Clenching her muscles around him as she moved, he could not stifle his groans of pleasure and his hands came swiftly to grasp her hips, trying to control her pace. His fingers dug deliciously painfully into her flesh and she knew he would bruise her. She raised her head up from his body, gasping in the agonising pleasure such a simple action brought from her.

But then she shook the fog of lust from her mind and refocused, wanting to regain control. Her eyes flicked to the bedside table. A solid crimson candle rested on it. She continued to move slowly on him, his breathing deep and heavy under her, but as she looked at the candle an idea came to her. She whispered a wandless spell, simple enough, and the candle flickered to life, a deep amber flame bursting from its wick.

She paused in her movements, causing a querying tensing of his body. Reaching over, she grasped the candle in her hand and brought it to hover above his luminous silken skin. She sensed a tightness grip his body suddenly and she smirked down at him. Then the tension beneath her relaxed slightly and he merely raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Her smirk deepened and her eyes danced. She turned her attention to the candle, holding it over his firm left breast. Tantalisingly slowly she tilted it, watching the burning molten wax pooling on the side. She felt a sharp intake of breath beneath her, but that merely fired her further.

Her wrist continued its twist downwards and she watched in fascination as the first deep red drop of wax clung perilously to the rim of the candle. Her hand moved again and it fell.

A long deep hiss of exquisite pain escaped him as the burn seared his velvet flesh. She turned her dancing eyes to his. He gazed up at her, delirious with pleasure and wonder.

She moved the candle to another spot above his heaving chest and tilted it once again agonisingly slowly. His eyes sparked as another fiery drop edged its way over the rim before falling mercilessly onto his tender skin. It scorched him for a delicious moment, before imparting a tingling glow which remained, spreading to the first prickling spot.

He hissed out and she felt him throb inside her, reminding her of the need for her own pleasure deep within. She raised herself up, drawing her tight walls along his length. He could not bear it, pushing up towards her and twisting his neck, the muscles tensing along it. She raised herself further, preventing his attempt to disappear into her.

She held herself on his tip, and tilted the candle another time, lowering herself down along him as the burning drop fell onto his skin. He groaned in ecstatic agony, the sound drawing a twist of pleasure within her, her walls clamping around him and heightening his delirium yet further.

"Hermione ... _fuck_ ... I cannot bear it ... _you_ ... _what you do_ ... finish it ... _now!"_

She knew neither of them would last much longer and she moved more urgently on him. He rubbed along her clit as she moved and she felt her muscles once again preparing for the plunge over the edge. She quickened her ride yet further, leaning down heavily onto him with one hand, while holding the candle aloft in the other. She knew he was desperately close and she clenched her muscles around him. Another groan from his depths. She moved the candle to the precise spot she sought and tilted, raising herself ready for a final delicious plunge down.

The molten droplet hesitated then tumbled; she moved down simultaneously. It fell perfectly onto his nipple and he cried out in delicious pain at the same time as her walls clenched fully around his frantic cock. He came desperately and totally, his body seared with sensation and ecstasy. A deep guttural sound unlike any she had ever heard erupted from him, breaking through the heavy heated atmosphere of the room.

As he swelled and erupted within her, she could feel his hot seed filling her and this, combined with the friction to her clit sent her over the edge. She shook around him, pleasure coursing through her veins once again that morning. Her head fell back and she groaned loudly from her depths as her orgasm gripped her muscles and fibres. "_Lucius ... mine ... all mine ..."_

They remained joined in rapture, their bodies twitching with the slowly waning pleasure still flowing between them. She pulled her head back and noticed the candle. She reached down and blew it out just before it set fire to the sheets.

A laugh of exhausted pleasure and relief bubbled out of her and she smiled deliriously down at him, smoothing her hands over the tormented flesh of his torso. When her fingers reached the solidified wax she slowly peeled each bit off, eliciting a hiss from him each time. When she at length removed the wax from his nipple, he inhaled sharply and grabbed her wrist in his hand pulling her fist towards his mouth. Raising the fleshy join of her thumb to his mouth he bit down on it surprisingly hard, causing her to cry out at the shock.

He released his hold on it and grinned up at her. She dropped her head down to his instantly and plundered his mouth with her tongue, moaning her pleasure into him. He grabbed her hair and twisted, more delicious pain assaulting her.

Maintaining his clenched grip in her hair, he rolled her over brutally, assaulting her mouth with his tongue and teeth, but ensuring he remained still buried within her. When, at length they parted to draw gasping breaths, they said nothing but gazed at each other for a further age, not wanting even to blink for fear of breaking the spell.

After a while hunger got the better of them and they slowly rose from the bed, not bothering to dress and went downstairs in their night robes. As ever, Tibby seemed to have produced breakfast at just the right time and they ate ardently, still unable to take their eyes off each other.

An owl arrived during breakfast from the Ministry, informing Hermione that due to the trauma of yesterday's trial, she need not come to work today. She read it with relieved alarm. She had been in such a state of bliss, that she had actually forgotten she had work to go to.

Lucius sat back and started to read _The Daily Prophet_. The headline was not unexpected. "Death Eater Once Again Escapes Azkaban." The photograph on the front was of them; Lucius clasping Hermione to him and lifting her high in the air. Hermione wondered slightly how the photographer had been allowed in. Lucius read the report dispassionately, informing Hermione of the significant details. It had, in fact, been reported fairly, and the reporter clearly agreed with Trench's decision. Lucius emerged in a positive light, most comments from interviewees praising his gentlemanly actions. There was a short mention of the "surprising" relationship between Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy, but clear acknowledgement of their obvious devotion to each other.

Hermione knew _The Quibbler_ would not be so dignified.

As Hermione was finishing there was a sudden urgent knock at the door. Lucius' face froze. Hermione was reminded of the dreadful knocking that had resounded through the house the morning he had been taken away and thought for one brief horrific moment that Trench may have changed his mind. The look on Lucius' face did nothing to reassure her. He took her hand quickly but gently and squeezed it. "Go upstairs," he whispered, low but urgent. She did not hesitate and left the room swiftly and silently.

She hurried into the bedroom, but left the door open, standing near it, straining her ears. She had no need to. The person revealed his identity to her loudly and clearly as soon as the door of his father's house was opened to him. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Have you brought that bitch into this house? Into _our_ house? Get her out! I want her out now!"

She had heard Draco's fury many times in the past but never had he sounded so venomous, so aggrieved and disillusioned. She closed her eyes at the grim inevitability of it, leaning her head against the wall.

Lucius' voice responded. It was low and measured but Hermione could not make out his words. Whatever he had said, it did nothing to appease Draco, who continued to hurl his vicious rancour into the echoing hallway.

"What have you done? What have you done to our family? You've torn us apart. As if the divorce wasn't enough – now this! You repulse me!"

Hermione sobbed, knowing how his words must be wounding Lucius. She could hear no response from him this time. Draco continued.

"You're a disgrace to the family! Call yourself a Malfoy? What a joke! And all for what ... a few quick fucks with that filthy little mudblood!?"

His words pained her, but only for Lucius' sake. She knew Draco's predictability – it was no worse in its way than the other hundreds of insults he had hurled at her while at school.

This time she heard Lucius' voice raised loud and urgent, but still calm.

"You will retract that, boy. Do not interfere in things you know nothing about. Unless you are able to control your temper and refine your ignorance you will leave this house until you can!"

"You can't tell me to get out of here. This will be my house after you. I belong here as much as you. Most of my things are here. In fact, that's one of the reasons I'm here now. I've come to get some stuff. Excuse me, _father_." He spoke coldly and callously, almost mocking with his last words.

Hermione heard his footsteps on the broad staircase. She felt no fear or trepidation. The footsteps grew ever louder, they were heading towards the corridor her room was on.

Hermione was galvanised. As the angry tread reached her door, she flung it wide and stepped out into the hallway, almost bumping into him. Draco reeled from the shock, his eyes registering horror akin to fear on his face.

He stopped dead and stared at her. She held her head as high as she dared and fixed him evenly with her eyes. Hermione was vaguely aware of Lucius coming swiftly along the corridor behind him.

Draco spoke, cold fury lacing his tones. "Get out of my way."

She did not move. He could easily walk around her should he want to.

His face twitched in desperate anger and his body clenched. He screamed at her, "_Get out of my way, bitch!"_

She spoke, remarkably steadily, it surprised even her. "Don't you want your father to be happy?"

Draco looked as if he would strike her. She held her nerve and remained calm. His venom came through his words.

"Don't you fucking presume to tell me what will make my father ... _my father_ ... happy! You have no idea what he had with my mother ... _no idea!_ ... He will never ... _never _... have that with a filthy - mudblood - _whore_!"

Her heart felt as if it had plummeted into her stomach. She swallowed hard, but forced herself to remain composed and upright. She looked beyond Draco to his father. He had a look of utter desolation on his face but he met her gaze steadily, imparting strength to her.

She spoke evenly and firmly to his son. "I know what an amazing man your father is, Draco. I will not allow him to be anything other than happy and fulfilled. I want you to know that."

Draco said no more, but his body remained coiled like a spring. Slowly, his tension dispersed slightly and without another word he stepped out past her and turned down a corridor, out of her sight. She heard a door slam, then silence.

She stood there stationary, quite numb. Eventually she became aware of Lucius standing close to her. She looked up at him. His face, so peaceful and beautiful that morning, had acquired a taut melancholy, which pierced her heart. She reached up and stroked his cheek tenderly. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

His eyes flicked down to her. He spoke calmly, but with a hollowness to his voice. "I told you, you need never to apologise to me. I am the one who must be sorry."

"No," she stressed. "His reaction is entirely understandable. It would have happened soon enough. I just wasn't expecting it quite so suddenly this morning. And when I say I'm sorry, I mean I am sorry that you had to hear that. Try to understand what he is going through. I have dealt with worse. I am more concerned for you."

He gazed down at her in awe, his eyes seemed to be slightly damp. "How do find such depth in your soul? I ... can't ..." He could not continue.

She held his hand and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "I'll leave you alone. I think I'll go for a swim."

She went to get changed into her swimming costume then quickly went downstairs, leaving the father and son alone.

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**Oh, what a tangled web we weave, and we're not even practising to deceive ...**

**Let me know your opinions if you have a moment. x**


	36. Thirty Six: Declaration

**Oh dear ...**

**Now, I know a lot of you will want to know exactly what was said between Lucius and Draco, but this story is written essentially from Hermione's point of view. I have therefore not revealed the details of that conversation. That does not mean we will not discover the impact or nature of it over time, but at the moment, we see things very much as Hermione does. Hope you understand that. Draco remains an important presence in the story, however.**

**I wrote this chapter a while ago and when returning to it recently, I was uneasy about how I felt about it. But rereading and editing it, I find that I'm quite satisfied with it. (God, that sounds poncy - I didn't mean it like that!) I think it reveals a lot about both of them and their relationship, and there are certainly some very significant moments and conversations.**

**Thanks so much for the lovely reviews, including the anonymous ones I can't reply to - much appreciated and welcome!**

**Enjoy!**

**Advance warning! I am running out of previously written chapters, and therefore after a few more days, you may have to wait a bit longer for your updates! Sorry!**

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Thirty Six - Declaration

Hermione floated on the surface of the cool water of the swimming pool, staring straight up at the ceiling. She watched the shimmering ripples of the water reflected up onto it and tried to empty her mind. Her hands waved at her sides, keeping her afloat with the minimum effort she could afford. She focused on the sound of the water lapping softly but regularly on the edges of the pool, and the feel of it on her skin as it gently swelled and receded around her body.

But still she could not clear her mind. She felt in tune with Lucius and her mind was full simply of the words that may be passing between him and his son. It would be deeply painful for them both. Strangely, she felt no animosity towards Draco. In fact, she almost admired him for the intensity of his reaction and his ardent loyalty to his family and name. She could well understand that, to him, her presence here was an abomination.

It still staggered her that his father did not feel this way. She wasn't sure she yet understood why.

She bent her legs, moving them beneath her, and breathing deeply, she lowered herself beneath the surface, the cool rush of water surrounding her profoundly, the sudden muffling of the sound of the outside world warping her sense of reality.

_How had she found herself here?_

As she remained cocooned under the water, the question flitted through her mind. It had all been so sudden, so extraordinary. Why had she never sought an answer?

Her lungs became painful and she rose to the surface, opening her mouth and drawing in a deep gasping breath of air. It reminded her of her vivid life, never more vibrant than at the moment.

She had no need to question anything.

Whatever was transpiring between Draco and Lucius, she would make it right, for her, for him, for them.

She swam leisurely up the pool, realising that the pain and tension that Draco's presence had elicited had now dispersed.

After several more lengths, a strange peace encompassed her in the still room, the only sound the quiet splash of water against the tiles and her own regular breathing.

She was waiting. Waiting for him to be ready to return to her.

After what was probably an hour or so, during which time she had swum, sat, thought, bided her time, she heard a slight noise in the doorway and looked up. He stood there, tall, his face solemn, but less rigid than it had been earlier.

She rose from the water, quickly wrapping a towel around her dripping form, and approached him assuredly but gently.

He looked down at the ground, not meeting her eyes. It was not something she was used to.

"He has gone." His words filled her with a sudden apprehension.

"But he will return." She tried to make it sound like a statement, but heard it in her own head as a question.

He raised his head and looked into her eyes. "I believe so," he said flatly. She could not infer his true meaning.

She took his hand, as she had done so frequently recently, and looked up into his eyes. She would ask no more about it. She knew he would speak to her if and when he wanted to. But she wished to reassure him. "It's alright. Everything. I will make sure it is all alright."

He smiled slightly, avoiding her eyes, then led her out of the room.

He remained very quiet. Hermione forced herself to ignore it, but it disturbed her nevertheless. She wasn't sure what to suggest and approached him tentatively. "When I've dressed I'm going for a walk. Will you show me the estate? It seems strange; I've hardly seen any of it."

He said nothing, but looked intently at her, his eyes searching her face for something, she knew not what.

"Yes," he spoke at length. "I need to get out of here for a while."

She shivered slightly as the water evaporated off her skin, and smiling up at him, moved past him to go and dress. He abruptly reached out his hand and held her wrist, preventing her from moving. "Don't be long," he said softly but urgently.

"No," she assured him. He released her wrist and she hurried upstairs, showering and dressing rapidly.

She went downstairs to find him standing almost impatiently in the hallway. As soon as she arrived he placed his hand on her back and guided her out of the house.

He walked purposefully, slightly ahead of her. The grounds of the Manor were beautiful and Hermione tried to stop to appreciate the plants and views every so often, but found him constantly striding ahead of her. It grew increasingly frustrating and she eventually stopped dead, refusing to move. "Lucius!" she called after him. "I thought we were going for a walk _together_."

He stopped ahead of her, not turning round for a while. Then slowly he turned and stretched his hand out towards her, indicating for her to join him. She did not move. Eventually he walked slowly back to her. When he reached her, he sighed a little and smiled down at her. "I'm sorry," he breathed. "I'm a little distracted."

She lowered her head, feeling ashamed. It was hardly surprising that he should be feeling disturbed. He placed his hand under her chin and raised her head to look at him. "Come. I promise to be better company from now on."

She smiled. "You don't have to be. It's silly of me ... I don't expect anything ... don't worry."

They continued walking gently, Lucius occasionally pointing out features and significant parts of the estate. Hermione was staggered by its scope and loveliness. How could people so apparently narrow-minded, bigoted and nominally evil have been responsible for such beauty?

At length they came to a bench overlooking a hill, stretching down to a valley with a stream running through it. Lucius sat first and Hermione lowered herself slowly to join him.

"I suppose all this must be so familiar to you. You must know it like the back of your hand."

"No."

She turned to look at him in surprise. He continued. "Well, I used to ... when I was very young, but after ..." He sighed deeply. She knew what he was referring to. "After that ... I hardly ever walked in the grounds. Narcissa and Draco never cared for it. They always wanted to be visiting friends, up in London, anywhere but here ..."

"But it's so beautiful here. It is so nourishing."

He chuckled slightly to himself.

She glanced up at him, slightly annoyed by his reaction. "What is it? I mean it."

"I know you do. I'm not laughing at you. It's just so strange to hear words like that about this place. Especially from you. You, who more than anyone, have the right to hate and despise it and everything it stands for. And Draco today ... he reminded me of how I have failed once again. However I develop, he remains. He will inherit this place and bring with him all his anger and prejudice and insularity."

"Lucius ... family is everything. Whatever Draco is, he is still your son, and this place rightfully will pass to him. He will respect it, I am sure. You have done a wonderful job with it, clearly, through your entire life, as did your father before you."

He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, raising himself up and tensing. She frowned in concerned query. He spoke low but seriously.

"I do not wish you to speak any more. You shame me with your words."

She lowered her head, hurt by what he had said. She stood up abruptly and moved away from him, then turned back, speaking forcefully. "Do not be afraid to move on, Lucius. The Gryffindor in you will help with that." She moved away once again, then stopped a further time to speak. "As will the Gryffindor over here."

She started to walk down the hill, leaving him to his contemplation on the bench.

She had gone only a few yards when he hurried after her, catching her and spinning her around to him, the force of it winding her. He grasped her head in his hands, covering her face, her hair, her neck with kisses. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."

She gasped with astonishment, trying to meet his eyes to reassure him. But he merely continued holding and kissing her, his lips absorbing the tears now covering her cheeks.

Slowly they lowered each other to the thick grass. The verdant scent of it filled her nostrils, heightening her senses. They undressed each other as much as possible, but their mutual need to connect prevented a full removal of their clothes. He reached down to her, feeling her wet for him already and he quickly entered her, both of them moaning in gratification. She was once again staggered by his size and ability to fill her so completely. They moved together in the grass, clasped tightly and still kissing deeply and urgently. It wasn't long before they both came, their ecstasy intensified by the vibrant colours, textures and smells around them.

They lay in the grass for a long time afterwards, gently soothing and caressing each other. Then a large cloud moved over them and a few drops of hot, heavy summer rain fell upon them. They raised themselves rapidly and ran back to the house as it grew ever more incessant. By the time they reached the Manor they were both soaking.

They rushed into the hallway, dripping onto the oak floor. Hermione threw her head back and laughed, dispersing any remaining tension. He once again clasped her to him, then reached down and swept her into his arms, so familiarly now, carrying her rapidly up the stairs and along the corridor to their room. He kicked the door open unceremoniously and threw her down on the bed. This time his passion and need was undeniable. He ripped desperately at her wet clothes, tearing them off her body. She reached for his own clothes, struggling to expose his wet flesh. He helped her urgently and finally they were naked, their bodies still moist from the downpour.

She burned for him and stretched herself out for him on the bed, writhing and moaning incoherently into the air. The noise startled her somewhat and she turned her head into the bedclothes, stifling her cries and rubbing her skin against the silks and velvets that lay under her. After his eyes had swept along her body, taking in the exquisite sight before him, he lowered himself rapidly onto her. Her skin was alive with the evaporating water and feel of his hands as they quested over her. He lowered his head and sought down, down, until his mouth connected suddenly with her clit. It caused her to jolt up to him. She had not expected to feel him there so soon. He did not take his mouth away, seemed desperate to taste and inhale her essence. He licked and sucked mercilessly, while one hand came up to find her nipple, rubbing and pinching it hard. His violent passion took her by surprise, but merely inflamed her, the desperate ache in her belly seemed to spread throughout her body and she craved release.

She felt two fingers suddenly and painfully inserted in her arse and she arched to meet them. The pain they elicited merely added to her desperate need for him. His hot mouth encircled her clit fully and he sucked forcefully, his teeth finding it too. At the same time the hand at her nipple twisted hard. She came viciously, screaming in agonised ecstasy as her body spasmed violently, the waves crashing through her time and time again. "Lucius! _God, Lucius!"_ Her cry of his name cut through the thick air around them.

He gave her no time to recover, raising himself up to her. She opened her eyes and took in the sight of his huge, iron cock jutting straight out to meet her. It was exquisite. He hissed out brutally to her, "Take it, now, witch ... _take it!"_ She opened her mouth just in time for him to plunge deep down into her. He hit her throat almost immediately, causing her to choke slightly. A groan of triumph escaped him. He pulled back out, allowing her a brief moment to recover before plunging back in even deeper than before. She looked up at him.

He spoke from somewhere deep in his psyche, words she could only just distinguish, but the impact of them undeniable, "Hermione ... cleanse me ... _need you to cleanse me_ ..."

She groaned her compliance around him, and the sound and feel of it caused a further agonised cry of need from him.

He forced himself to look at himself disappearing into her mouth, but his eyes were glazed and she knew he was finding it hard to focus. He continued assaulting her mouth, but she relaxed and welcomed him with every stroke, her own ardour and tolerance astounding them both. Then suddenly, just as she thought he would come, he pulled out and rolled her over brutally once again.

He drew her up onto her knees before him and positioned himself before her vagina. Then he suddenly stopped, paused. She felt the steely head of his cock move up. She tensed, but the anticipation sent an undeniable thrill through her.

She heard him swiftly reach for something and felt a viscous substance smeared around her tight anal opening. She pulled in a rasping breath and relaxed herself as much as she could. She knew he was not in the mood to go easy.

He breathed in deep through his nose, girding himself, then thrust hard, half his length filling her immediately, brutally pushing past her ring of resistance. She cried out in pain, but the feeling warped instantly into a delicious burning which spread from his emplacement in her through her entire body. She heard her voice, almost detached from itself, "Yes ... _more ... yes ..."_

He groaned ecstatically at her words and the sight of her impaled on him, and pulled back, only to thrust in again, almost to the hilt. Once again a cry of pain escaped her. The sound did not make him hesitate. He knew her too well now, knew what she was capable of, knew what she needed – this need to possess and be possessed so completely by him. It was their life-force.

He withdrew almost fully, then again plunged back into her, this time all the way. She screamed in agony and ecstasy, moaning his name over and over deliriously, urging him on, begging him not to stop. He didn't think he ever could. He groaned deliriously into the room, "Hermione ... _fuck ... Hermione ..._so perfect _... my ... perfect ..."_

He moved steadily and urgently now, stroking his full length in and out of her tightest, most sacred passage. His hand came under her, finding her clit, stroking along her folds, reaching into her snatch to draw out her sweet wetness then up again, to the perfect spot. This, combined with the burning agonised delirium his cock was drawing from her was the end.

Her voice became inhuman and a scream of the deepest fulfilment was ripped from her. Her whole being shook ecstatically around him, over and over, she felt her orgasm would never end. It was his undoing. The feeling of her tightness around his cock and the sight of her delirious spasms sent him over the edge. He spurted up into her, shoot after shoot hitting her deep inside. Another unearthly cry filled the room, torn from his throat as his head fell back.

They remained together, small spasms gripping them for what seemed like minutes afterwards. He didn't think he could ever withdraw from her, but his legs felt like jelly, as did hers. When at last he softened slightly, he pulled out gently, at last tenderness guiding his actions, and lay beside her, panting with exhaustion.

"Every time I come inside you, I feel a little more distanced from my past."

She frowned slightly in query. "Is that a good thing?"

He merely sighed deeply in response.

Hermione raised herself onto her elbows, leaning over him and looking directly into his eyes. "I told you before, Lucius. I love you completely – what you are and what you have been. I don't want that to change. You can learn from your past, but it still informs who you are, it has still made you who you are now. You must not be ashamed of it."

He looked at her, not responding, but his silence told her how significant her words were. She continued.

"I am not ashamed of it. And I confess – that side of you is what makes you so ... constantly desirable. That time in the park ... I would have died if I couldn't have had you right then. And just now ... the pain, the pleasure ... it is indistinguishable ... I need that reminder of who you were, are ... who I am. When I am near you, I am in a nearly permanent state of arousal. And I never stop to question it. It is just who we are. I want all of you, all of the time. You are the mirror of my soul. Through you I seek all that life has to offer: joy, pleasure, anguish, mirth, deceit, pain, delight, fear ... I have never been so in touch with life. I have never _felt_ so much – sometimes I think I have transcended being merely human. You have done that.

"I set out to understand you, Lucius, but I realise I don't have to ... I don't even want to anymore, as long as you _remain_."

He stayed quiet, looking up at her gently for the longest time, stroking her hair out of her face, which he did when contemplating her tenderly. After a while he spoke. "You set out to understand me?"

"Hmm," she confirmed.

A smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. "Why?"

"You know me. I never could resist an intellectual challenge."

"Is that what I am – an intellectual challenge?" He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed, realising that she had never really explained the reasons for her behaviour to him, or to herself for that matter.

"When I first saw you, in Flourish and Blotts that time ... do you remember?"

"How could I forget? ... I have told you."

She remembered their conversation of some weeks before. "Of course," she smiled. "It's just now I'm thinking of it from my point of view ... It was horrible. I had hoped never to see any Malfoy again, I admit. And then suddenly and unexpectedly, there was Draco. That was bad enough. All the memories came back ... fear, pain, desolation ... encapsulated in him. I thought I would pass out. Only one thing could make it worse ... and as I was trying to get away I bumped into that one thing."

She paused, lying down onto his chest and inhaling deeply, that same smell of musk and spice coming to her so profoundly again – the same scent that had assaulted her senses and mind that day. How different the circumstances now. He reached down to her arm and stroked up and down, staring up at the ceiling.

"At first I was overwhelmed. The sight of you, the feel of you, the smell of you ... sent me straight back to that place ... the agony ... I didn't think I would ever be able to move again from that spot, clinging onto you as if grasping something red hot – seared onto it through the burn ... through the pain. I heard my own screams, piercing my soul ... it was horrific ..."

"I know."

She sighed deeply again, the memory of that time reminding her of how she used to feel about him. She continued swiftly.

"Anyway, I recovered, eventually, but I couldn't shake the memory of you, and ... it had changed ... there was no more pain, no more fear ... but you were there, in my head, as much as I tried to pretend otherwise, and ... something had been awakened ... something latent, which ...I had denied for too long; hiding behind books, behind my reputation, my past, behind Ron ... I had forgotten how to _live_. And you ... your assault on my emotions ... triggered this ... coming to life ... it was terrifying, but ... extraordinary.

"And then the opera ... I tried so hard to pretend, to carry on as normal ... being indignant at your presence ... I couldn't cope ... I nearly fainted ..."

"Yes. I do recall that moment rather vividly, as you well know." A slight hint of teasing sarcasm.

She exhaled a slight laugh. "Yes ... How did you know I was there on the stairs? There were hundreds of people there. How were you in exactly the right place at the right time?"

"You needed me."

She smiled. Had their almost telepathic bond existed even then? But he continued. "I followed your every move. I could not prevent myself. I watched your outburst at Shacklebolt. I watched you struggle through the crowds, your eyes glazing. I knew exactly what would happen."

"I wanted you so much. I thought after that night ... I would die ... but I was so confused ... there was Ron ... my job ... it made no sense ... but you ... I couldn't deny you anymore and I dealt with it in the only way I understood, by trying to rationalise it ... I had to work out why I was feeling the way I was ... if I understood you, I would understand myself. And the very next day, Kingsley gave me the task of tutoring you." She laughed out loud at the memory of it. "Such euphoria ..."

"And have you ... _rationalised_ me, Miss Granger?"

She giggled against his chest and raised herself up once again to look at him. "I have concluded, Mr Malfoy, that rationalising one's life is as boring as fuck."

He smiled at her, before drawling, "I don't think our fucks are particularly boring."

She reached up and whacked him firmly across his solid belly. He let out a slight mock-pained grunt and chuckled slightly, tightening his grip on her.

They lay quietly for a long while, smoothing each other's skin with the tips of their fingers. Then Hermione broke the silence.

"I want you to take me to that room."

* * *

**He's a man of paradoxes, our Lucius ... but then, that's what makes life interesting ... I think Hermione's got that figured out.**

**Review if you care to. Thank you all so much!**

**Until tomorrow x (may be a bit later tomorrow)**


	37. Thirty Seven: Belonging

**This chapter changed a lot from what I originally wrote. I want to convey the torment which still inhabits Lucius, and the darkness which will always lurk, within him, and Hermione. Their utter devotion to each other is indisputable, but that does not make their emotions any less bewildering or mystifying to them both.**

**Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for the lovely reviews. Please keep them coming if you can!**

**x**

* * *

Thirty Seven - Belonging

Her words hung in the air, heavy around them. He did not reply. Hermione waited. After an age a long, deep sigh was drawn out of him and he spoke, uncertainly, heavily, "Do not ask me that."

Hermione felt an immediate twist of frustration, even though she had known he would find it deeply painful. She had resolved in her own mind to confront it now, and was irritated by his refusal to comply. She tried hard to push her wish away, but could not. She rolled onto her back, slightly away from him, and they lay there in silence, a sudden tension present in the room.

"_I _am ready," she said clearly.

Again, he offered no reply for the longest time. But eventually he gave his response, simply but firmly.

"I am not."

A strange feeling of emotional possessiveness came over her. She was the one who controlled the response to that night, surely. She raised herself up on her elbows and spoke forcefully. "_I_ was the one who was tortured that night, Lucius. _I_ was the one who suffered over and over again at the hands of that ... woman. Not you. Surely if I decide it is the time to go in there ...if I'm ready to confront that place ... I should bloody well be allowed to!" She was angry now, her words spilling out fast and bitter.

He turned his head away, unable to look at her. His lack of response was infuriating and she huffed in desperation, throwing herself down on the bed like a petulant schoolgirl.

Silence.

"Don't you understand what that room represents to me? ... Now, more than ever."

She heard his words, but in her own selfish desire to satisfy her tormented soul, she did not listen to them.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal to you." Another disgruntled sigh. "As I recall, you were pretty detached while we were in there." She spoke the words coldly and deliberately antagonistically, knowing she would get a reaction.

He spun around to her suddenly, leaning oppressively over her, grabbing her arms in both his strong hands and immobilising her. Anger sparked inside her, but also that familiar fire ...

His eyes burned into hers, bitter fury clearly evident in them.

"Detached?" The word was spat out viciously.

She held his gaze, her breathing rising and falling rapidly. She felt an excitement coursing through her at their mutual anger and aggression. She could not resist fuelling it.

"Yes, Lucius ... _Detached_." She spoke spitefully and aggressively, deliberately baiting him.

He made no move but remained above her, holding her tightly. But he did not respond further as she thought he would, and she found herself strangely disappointed.

She heard herself speaking again, not entirely sure where the words came from.

"Or maybe not ... perhaps you did feel something ... what? ... As I was crucioed time and time again ... _did it turn you on?"_

It was enough.

He raised himself powerfully, pulling her with him and flung her to the end of the bed, away from him, drawing himself up onto his knees and towering over her.

She gazed up at him in anger and awe. He had not hurt her as such, but she knew that physically he could do what he wanted with her, if he so chose. It did not scare her, but she acknowledged instead that it fuelled her lustful fury yet more. She knew exactly what she was doing.

He looked magnificent over her, his eyes alight with rage, his breathing deep and rapid, the firm muscles on his chest flexing slightly with each rise and fall. His skin glowed almost supernaturally in the moonlight now flooding the room and she could not suppress a small gasp of longing.

However, she knew she had angered him deeply, that is what she wanted, but was not sure what precise path he would now take. Curious excitement rushed through her veins. She almost wondered if he would reach for his wand and curse her.

Instead, his eyes still burning with anger, he leaned slowly down over her, his mouth a mere breath away from her. His hand came up, running itself lightly over her belly and breasts, before coming to rest on her neck, as it had done during their first meeting in her office. Again, she felt no fear, only a gush of wetness from between her legs.

His fingers closed around her neck, not squeezing, but firmly pressing into her skin, tilting her head back slightly. She inhaled sharply, aware that despite his grasp, she could still do so.

He moved his head to her ear, his mouth so close to touching her. His voice filled her head, an icy malice driving it, such as she had not heard in him since before the war. "Do you know what I have seen? Do you know what I have done to people? What I have done with my bare hands? Do you know what I could do to you? What I could have done then ... that day?

"Do not toy with me. If you knew what I truly was ... all those things that still make me who I am ... would you be saying these things, I wonder? It is not such a small step back, witch ... the step back to madness ... to misery ... and this time ..." he leant in yet further, and hissed his words straight into her ear, "_I would take you with me_ ..."

She darted her eyes to look at him. For the first time, a sudden fear overtook her, and she felt her breath hitch. His hand remained firmly on her throat, his eyes searing her soul.

And then he quite suddenly rose up, releasing his grip on her, got off the bed, pulling his robes with him, and left the room.

She lay there immobile. The fear which had overcome her was not terror at the physical threat, but at his words, which had forced her to confront the darkness of her own soul.

The silence of the room surrounded her. She felt utterly alone. The truth of what he had said assaulted her. She could not deny the fact that the slip into darkness was, and always had been present within her. And now they had both acknowledged it. Is that what had been driving her behaviour? This need to explore the dark depths of her own soul?

She breathed heavily into the room. Confusion filled her mind. For her. For him. He did not want to return to where he had been, yet together they had connected so fundamentally that there was no denying the profound truths they risked exposing.

She turned over into the lush covers and wept. Things suddenly seemed much clearer now, despite the barren realisation she had come to. It was almost a relief. Hermione lay, tears steaming down her cheeks. She wept for herself, for Lucius ... for Ron.

In all of this, who had behaved the least admirably? Lucius? Ron? No. The answer was so clear, she knew she at last had to face up to things.

Her behaviour towards Ron had been disgraceful. She could not change the way she felt about him, she could not deny what she now needed to pursue in life, no matter how it made her confront her own darkness, but she had gone about it in a way she hardly recognised as herself.

She was suddenly consumed with utter shame and guilt over her treatment of him. He did not deserve this. She lay on the bed, her body heaving with shameful spasming sobs.

She ached with loneliness. She desperately wanted Lucius to return, to hold her, soothe her, help her to forget her guilt, but she knew she had to do this, and knew also he was in no mood to see her.

Responsibility.

For too long now she had ignored her responsibility, a word which had driven her life until these last few weeks. And now, she realised that she must take control over herself again. She must sort out, as best she could, the mess she had left behind of her past life, and embrace fully her new one. She knew that if her relationship with Lucius was to succeed she could not afford to be so petulant, so childish. His understanding of himself and restraint in comparison to hers shamed her.

At length she rose and put on a robe. She went downstairs. She could find him nowhere, despite searching every room she was familiar with. A panic started to well up inside her and she found her skin chilled suddenly with a sweat that had broken out over it.

Had he gone? Surely he would return? Where could he have gone?

A childish insecurity flitted through her. Had he gone to see Narcissa? Burning jealousy flamed through her body, something she had not needed to feel throughout their relationship.

She paced again through the house, calling him ever more desperately. Tibby appeared at her side and Hermione asked urgently where her master was. The elf did not know.

Hermione sobbed, tears starting to fall rapidly. She rushed down the hall and flung open the front door, rushing out into the moonlit night, calling his name frantically into the silver glow. She received no reply.

She ran around the house, to the back where the gardens stretched along, interspersed with fountains and hedges.

Her body was wracked with pain and despair and she wept loudly into the chilly night air. Then just as she thought she could not bear another moment, her eyes fell on a distant shape at the very end of the garden, looking out over the hills beyond. It was him.

She threw herself down the steps, running hopelessly down the gravelled pathways to reach him.

When she reached him, she was gasping for breath, unable to form words.

She stopped slightly apart from him. He did not look at her, and his face was as impassive as usual, staring out over his estate.

As soon as she could, she drew in a deep breath and her words came fast.

"I'm sorry. I'm stupid. I'm a stupid, stupid girl. What you said, I don't care. You're right. But whatever you do, whatever I do, we will be together, and that will mean it doesn't matter ... it will be alright ... we will keep each other safe."

He at last turned to look at her.

"You must realise that certain things are too ... raw." His voice was still cold. "We are beyond playing games now."

"I know." She hung her head shamefully, tears still falling. "I am sorry. What you described, about the darkness inside. At that moment ... I felt it within me too." Then a new awareness took hold of her; she wanted him to know she understood. "I feel it when I am with you. When it is there, I love it, I love it in you. I just told you. It is what drives us. What is wrong with that, as long as we can control it?"

He turned towards her. "Control it?" He looked down at her. His hand came up and held her chin lightly between thumb and forefinger, tilting her head slightly and studying her, appraising her. "Is that what you think?" His voice had regained the chilly hollowness, the words formed on the tip of his tongue and lips, reminding of his voice so silkily cold in the Department of Mysteries all those years ago. "Then you are more foolish than I thought."

His words wounded her more than she could have prepared for. But they had come too far for her to crumble now. She lifted her head high. He still held it in his hand, his eyes searing her face. She summoned her resilience around her. "What do you want, Lucius?"

He lowered his hand slowly and turned away from her, his profile proud but ghostly in the moonlight.

"I want what you can give me."

"And what is that?"

"You know. I have told you. You have told me."

She was confused at first, but then answered in the only way she could. "I want life."

He breathed out, his breath vaporising in the night air. "Yes."

"Lucius, I told you this earlier. I thought you understood."

Again he turned to sear her with his eyes. He stepped in towards her, his breath heavy and deep, so close to her. She was reminded abruptly of their first meeting in Flourish and Blotts, and how it had triggered all that had passed between them since. The tension now was almost as unbearable.

His hands came up lightly to touch the briefest touches at the back of her head, the tips of his thumbs running along the shells of her ears. Her breathing grew heavy and rapid and her mind whirled. She could not deny the physical need he was drawing from her, but knew also that he would speak, words she needed to hear. Her curiosity was burning.

His face was a mere breath from hers now, and his eyes burned with a flame hitherto unseen, it almost hurt to look at them.

"Ahh ... but you are forgetting one thing, my dear."

He did not continue, searching her face. She sobbed out, "What ...?"

"Life ... life in all its glory and horror ... it is the greatest reward, but to achieve great rewards, one needs to take great risks ..." His voice was low and light, his words meticulously formed in the chill night air. "Are you willing to take that risk ... the ultimate risk ...?" He was speaking these ominous, foreboding words so gently, all the while running his fingers lightly over her scalp, where her head met her neck. She thought she would pass out from the overwhleming sensuality. Her eyes rolled back in her head and closed. But she needed more, and managed to rasp her words out from deep within.

"What is it? The ultimate risk? What would I be sacrificing, Lucius? _What?"_

He abruptly stopped his strokes on her head and the suddenness of it caused her to lock her eyes into his. He spoke.

"Your soul."

She froze.

Still she looked him deep in the eyes. She knew it to be true, and knew also the answer to his question, had known almost as soon as she had met him again after all those years.

She held his gaze steadily, and swallowed hard.

But looking into his eyes, those crystal grey eyes which so enthralled, tormented, and consumed her, she gave the only answer she could. "Yes, Lucius. I would sacrifice my soul. For you, I would sacrifice any ..." Before she could finish the sentence he had closed the small distance between their mouths and met her lips with his own, swiftly parting them and flitting his tongue deep into her, as if trying to disappear into her. She responded equally, but when she tried to reach her arms up to close around his neck, she found them pinned to her sides by his powerful hands. She moaned slightly at the restriction, but he merely clasped tighter and deepened the kiss.

Then suddenly he broke away breathing heavily, and leaning his forehead against hers.

Then he entwined his fingers in hers and led her up to the house, a tug on her arm all the way. He spoke not another word but continued to virtually pull her along until they reached the bedroom.

Once inside, he led her into the middle of the room and swiftly but completely silently removed all her clothes, while keeping his own on. Then he moved away from her and started to walk, slowly and deliberately around her, his eyes never leaving her body.

She stood, entirely naked, while her lover circled her, studying and examining her as if she was a scientific specimen. At any other time it would have felt degrading, perverted, but she accepted him so utterly, that she revelled in it. Her skin, alight since their conversation in the garden, was now on fire, and she could not suppress a groan sounding from her depths as he continued to walk round her, his eyes taking in every detail he saw.

But at the sound of her cry, he stepped swiftly in to her and placed the tip of one finger up to her mouth, tantalisingly close, but not quite touching it. He shot her a threatening look, which should have unnerved her, but merely elicited a rush of moisture from between her legs. He lowered his hand but stepped in to her, his mouth at her ear. "_Do - not – make – a sound,"_ he hissed abruptly, before stepping away from her again.

She complied immediately. For the longest time he did not move into her, just stayed examining her, naked before him. She longed for his touch, thought she would pass out, but managed not to emit another cry of longing. He was behind her and suddenly something came up and covered her eyes, a silky material which he tied tightly behind her head, rendering her sightless. Still, she made no sound, although she was sure her heart beat was louder than any voice would have been.

And then, something else. He encircled her wrists and pulled them behind her, tying them firmly with another silken length. She heard a deep breath escape him, but was able to control any sound emerging from her.

And then silence. She felt nothing. She heard nothing, although was aware that he was still in the room. She thought her body would melt into the floor with desperation, she craved his touch urgently and his torment of her drove her wild with desire. She needed to relieve the desperate ache between her legs and moved her foot forward an inch.

"Don't. Move." She heard his voice immediately off to her left. She instinctively turned her head to the sound.

"I said, _don't move_ ... _mudblood_." He revelled in the use of the word, but she knew he was doing it to further fuel her lust. He knew exactly. It brought a flood from between her legs.

But still, for the longest time, silence remained in the room and Hermione obeyed and did not speak or move. She must have stayed that way for twenty or thirty minutes, it seemed even longer. Her back stiffened, her arms lost all feeling and her legs almost cramped. But still she forced herself to remain still and silent, waiting, waiting for him. She was his. This is what she wanted.

And then, just when she thought she could stand no more, she felt something. It was on her foot. The gentlest of touches, delicate, wet. His tongue, his lips. Slowly, deliberately he started to work his way up, up her ankle, her calf, the back of her knee, kissing, licking , nipping. After being denied and tormented for so long, he may as well be at her clit already. She at last could not stop a tender moan from sounding.

Immediately he stopped and withdrew. "Tut tut tut, Miss Granger, that won't do at all." She nearly wept with disappointment, but dragged up her last ounce of strength to prevent herself begging him to continue.

He punished her for her disobedience by moving away again, although she could hear him, sense him, so close, he must only have been a breath away.

After several long minutes, she at last felt him on her skin again, resuming where he had left off, trailing so, so slowly but exquisitely ever upwards. Once he had reached the apex of her thighs he swerved away and continued up to her abdomen. Her insides heaved with longing, but she was equally enjoying his sensuous exploration of her so much, that she was able to overcome the disappointment.

His tongue continued to lick and his lips nibble up her torso, joined now by his warm, firm hands, which smoothed and stroked, easing away the aches which had spread through her body. His tongue licked up the underside of one breast, and her belly somersaulted when at last it found her nipple, already erect and jutting proudly out into the cool night air, due to the position her arms had been tied in. He circled, twirled, tasted, nipped it, then moved to the other, repeating his ministrations.

But unlike other times he was so gentle, tender, it brought a rush of emotion coursing through her after all that had passed between them that day.

She felt him groan against her breast and she instinctively tried to bring her arm round to clasp his head, but found she could not. The frustration of her immobility, although fuelling her desire and longing, was now almost too much and she sought his touch where she most needed it. As usual, he seemed to read her mind, and, his tongue once again quested down, briefly swirling round her belly button, down over the neat damp hairs below, until she felt his hot breath on her. She opened her mouth to gulp in air, desperate to cry out, but knowing it would stop him if she did.

His fingers were there too, parting her and slipping up inside her vagina, two, three, stroking, fluttering, circling. And then he was there, his tongue like a flame darting around her burning nub, licking up her folds, then back to that tender bud. He opened his mouth, breathing out before encircling it with his lips and pulling in, sucking it almost into him. She would not last long. He knew.

His fingers fluttered ever more urgently deep within her, and his tongue stroked hard down then up one more time. He took his mouth away briefly to speak low and urgent, "_Now_. Let me hear you scream now, my darling. _Come for me_."

He plunged his mouth back down to her clit, sucking harder than ever, his tongue laving it, his teeth catching it, his fingers inside her, strumming. She teetered momentarily then plunged, her muscles which had been forced to remain still and rigid for so long spasming rapturously with pleasure. Her orgasm spread rapidly through every part of her body, she thought she could feel it in her very toes. She opened her mouth at last and allowed her silence to be broken. She screamed her pleasure out. Screamed loud and ecstatically, his name torn from deep within. "Lucius! God, yes! Always you! _My heart, my love, my soul!"_

He remained kneeling before her, drinking in her essence, her pleasure, for the longest time. Then at length he stood, moved behind her and undid her restraints. She suddenly became aware of her arms, numb and aching, and wondered how she could have remained in that position for so long. As he removed the blindfold, she blinked blearily at him, smiling with exhausted bliss. He smiled briefly down at her, before taking her arms and rubbing them, coaxing circulation back into them.

He was still wearing his robes and she knew she should reciprocate, knew he would be hard for her. She started to reach down to him, but he took her wrist firmly and prevented her.

She raised her eyebrows quizzically at him, concerned by his reaction. "Don't you want me?" she asked hesitantly.

He smirked, chuckling slightly. "You know you do not need to ask me that." With that he pulled her hand in momentarily to feel him, rock hard and urgent beneath her fingertips. But just as she was about to curl them around him, he pulled her hand away again and spoke once more, "But sometimes, the pleasure of seeing you, mine, perfect before me, is enough. It is tonight." He leant in and kissed her so tenderly, she almost wept.

They spoke little more that night, the stresses and emotions of the day finally catching up with them, and the profoundest sleep quickly took them both for the second night running.

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The next day dawned with crushing realisation. She not only had to return to work, but then go to the flat and see Ron. She wondered how she could summon the emotional fortitude to deal with it. She turned towards Lucius. He seemed to still be asleep, but she doubted he was. She reached her arm over his taut belly and was relieved when he in turn reached his up behind her, drawing it down around her.

Her mind flitted back to last night and what he had done to her when they returned to the house. Why hadn't she found it degrading? No, she felt no shame whatsoever. They had merely affirmed physically what had been said in words, and she embraced it.

But physically, she had missed feeling him inside her, despite their almost perpetual couplings when together, and now she felt her hand instinctively reach down under the covers to feel him. She was disappointed to find him quite limp, but as her fingers rested on him, she felt a stirring under them. She was quickly relieved and moved her hand over him, stroking slowly up and down. It did not take long for him to rise proudly and rock-hard.

Still, she was surprised when he spun her over suddenly and in one quick fluid movement thrust into her fully. She had been completely unprepared for it, and her tight walls ached at their sudden assault, as he stretched them wide with his girth. He groaned deeply and longingly as he moved slowly within her, and it did not take long for her walls to coat him with her juices, allowing him to slide ever more sensuously along her passage.

She cried out in delirium, never had she focused so triumphantly on his size within her, and he quickly brought her to the edge. He raised the angle of his thrusts slightly and rubbed deliciously against her clit as he pushed himself fully into her, stroking, stroking, filling her being. She could not bear it, and her wave broke. She arched herself off the bed up to meet him, crying his name out over and over again, endlessly, as her body shook uncontrollably in delirium. He carried on thrusting for some time after she had come down, his face intent on her bliss, her rapture, deriving a deep pleasure from seeing her ecstasy. At last he himself could not hold back and he thrust harder than ever into her, then his body tensed. His face contorted in the agony of pleasure and a rasping groan was rent from his depths. He pulsed deep into her, time and time again, his seed so hot she knew she felt it.

They continued to lie in bed for some time, in peaceful bliss.

But soon a deep unease crept over her. It reminded her of lying in bed in the mornings as a child at junior school, not wanting to go in and face the bullies and the worries.

She sighed deeply, the niggling twinge in her belly spreading to her soul. She owed it to Ron, and Lucius, to face him and offer some sort of explanation.

She turned to Lucius. "I have to go now." She stopped, turning to look out at the room. "I may be late back tonight. I have things to ... resolve."

He said nothing, but stroked her back tenderly and languidly with his fingertips. It was exquisite, but she wished he wouldn't; it distracted her from getting up.

She tore herself away and hurried from the room to the bathroom, not bearing to look back at him. On returning to the bedroom, she found him still in bed and she proceeded to dress silently, a deep anxiety consuming her. She dared not look at him, for fear she would lose all her resolve, but she could feel his eyes burning onto her as she carefully did up the buttons on her shirt and zipped up her tight skirt.

When she had finished, she sighed once again, and froze, unsure how to proceed. She glanced up at him. He was looking at her gently and tenderly. It made her melt and she had to close her eyes to maintain her composure.

"You are beautiful." He spoke simply and honestly.

She felt a sob start to well up inside her, but managed to suppress it.

Then quickly she strode over to him, and kissed him long and deep. His hand came up to stroke her arm and he started to close his fingers around it, but she pulled away quickly, turned from him and left the room.

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**Let me know what you think - lots to think about here!**

**x**


	38. Thirty Eight: Closing

**Here we are ... no tender moments here, I'm afraid, still, it's all important.**

**Keep the reviews coming if you can. I could use some insight into how things are going and what you anticipate, as I am coming to a point where I am running out of pre-written chapters. Please let me know in particular what you think about all the smut. This is essentially an erotic story, about a relationship dominated by a physical need, so the smut is pretty important. I try to write each scene differently and significantly, and each act is supposed to reveal something about their relationship, but I am aware that there is an awful lot of it! Somehow, when these two characters get together, they just can't keep their hands off each other - that's what drives them. I want to write an intense, interesting, entertaining story, but it still needs integrity. Let me know if you think there's too much, too little (!), about right ... I would appreciate it.**

**Sorry to waffle on! And thanks for your loyalty!**

**Still own noone, etc.**

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Thirty Eight - Closing

Hermione reached the Ministry and tried to walk as purposefully as she could to her office. It was the first time she had returned since her relationship with Lucius had been revealed. She was hardened enough to deal with the whispers and glances, but still a feeling of unease sank into her as she descended to the hidden building.

She knew all eyes were upon her as she walked past the desks and open doors. However, she realised with a slight pride that the over-riding feeling she experienced as she swept past her colleagues was pity for them, pity that they had nothing better to do than gawp and murmur about her love life. Still, it was a relief to reach her office and escape them.

She sat at her desk for a while, numb, unable to think. Her in-tray was heaving, and she sighed as the mundanity of life returned to her.

Eventually she reached for the papers on top and tried to focus on the words on the page. She achieved little, and found herself rereading the same paragraph over and over. But just as she attempted to reapply her attentions, there was a knock on her door. She glanced up. It was Ormus.

"Hermione," he spoke flatly. "Can I come in?"

She drew in a deep breath. "Yes, of course. Sit down, Ormus." He did so.

He sat in the chair opposite her for a while, not speaking or even looking at her. His head was nodding slightly, as if he was trying to sort through what he was about to say in his head first. At length he broke his silence.

"Are you well?"

"Yes. Thank you."

He raised a hand and absent-mindedly scratched his head. She waited.

"Umm ... you know, Hermione ... I have to say ... we've all been a bit shaken up by what has transpired between you and ... uhh ... Lucius Malfoy." He could hardly bear to say his name.

She said nothing. Was this necessary?

"I guess it's just ... when you form an opinion of someone and ... it turns out that ... they're a bit different to how you thought ..."

She could not believe what she was hearing.

"Excuse me?!"

"I just ... uhhh ... I hadn't expected it of you, that's all ..."

"Ormus. Why on earth are you telling me this? It is your job to ensure that I do my job carefully and fulfil the tasks set to me. Your opinion of me as a person should be irrelevant, unless my character interferes with how well I perform at work. I can assure you that my work has been, and will continue to be, exceptional, regardless of my relationship with Mr Malfoy. I'm sure it is a source of fascination to all the people who work in this place, and I'm glad I've given them something to fill their empty little lives with, but apart from that, it does not change anything, and I would appreciate it if it was not discussed."

She glared at him. At any other time, she would have been astonished to hear herself speaking that way to her boss, but they both knew that under the circumstances, she was justified in her actions.

He hung his head, looking deeply embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione ... I just worry about you, that's all ... I mean, I never thought you and Ron were well-suited, but ... _Lucius Malfoy_?!"

Hermione's jaw fell open in horror. How dare he comment so freely on her personal life? She suddenly clearly realised what she had suspected before, and she could not stop the question from sounding in the tense air between them.

"Ormus ... Are you _jealous?"_

He darted his head up to her, a look of horror taking hold of his face. He swallowed hard and tried to exhale a derisory laugh out, but it was futile. He knew his feelings were written all over his face.

"Hermione ..."

His tacit acknowledgement of his feelings for her made the unease she was feeling much worse. God, why did this have to be thrown at her as well?

"Ormus ... why didn't you say something before?" She spoke gently, not wishing to hurt him, but wanting to make her own feelings on the matter clear.

"You were with Ron ... and ... I could detect no ... reciprocation ..."

Hermione lowered her eyes. She could not deny that.

He continued. "If I had said something ... would it have made a difference?"

Hermione looked at him, a concerned, negating frown on her face. It told him all he needed to know.

"I didn't think so."

He sighed deeply. "You're right. I spoke unacceptably. I offer you my full apology for that. I'm sure that whatever decision you have made about your life, you have done it sensibly and carefully, for all the right reasons."

He looked up at her. Hermione sincerely hoped she could corroborate his words, but 'sensible' and 'careful' did not seem to describe her relationship with Lucius. She smiled slightly and lowered her head.

Ormus rose to leave. "I'll leave you to get on. Can I just say that ... of course, I am delighted with your work and have no reason to question your ability to fulfil your job to the highest standards. I'm ... sorry, Hermione. Let us say no more on the matter." He smiled gently, turned and left.

Hermione let out a deep sigh, leaning back in her chair and throwing her quill onto the desk. _God, not him too._ As if her guilt over Ron wasn't enough. This added complication upset and frustrated her and added to the deep sense of anxiety which she carried with her. She desperately wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere but here right now.

Once again, she turned her eyes to the papers before her and tried to concentrate on them. The morning passed horrifically slowly. She used the full hour allocated to her for lunch, avoiding the stares of the Ministry workers as she swept in and out of the office, and managed to work more concertedly after she had eaten.

As the afternoon wore on, her fortitude grew, and she almost welcomed the time when she could leave the Ministry and go, go to sort out the mess of her life, go and see him at last, explain ... what? She couldn't explain it to herself, let alone Ron. But still, it would happen. At half past four she tidied her desk, feeling surprisingly calm, and left.

She walked to the flat, contemplating what she would say. There was little that could be said, although she was sure their emotions would result in much passing between them.

When at last she found herself outside the flat, her resolve faltered and she suddenly felt as if she would be sick. She had been so strong all day, but now the moment had arrived, she wondered if she had the courage to face him.

She could hear the television from inside the room. She raised her wand and murmured some words. Nothing happened. She tried again. The door remained resolutely locked. He had changed the charm. She sighed deeply.

Raising her hand, she knocked, tentatively at first. There was no reply. She knocked again, louder. After what seemed an age, she eventually heard footsteps approaching the door, and the lock being turned back. Then the footsteps retreated again.

She closed her eyes, leaning against the door briefly, then opened it and walked in.

At first he did not react, did not even acknowledge her presence. She stood awkwardly, not speaking. At length he turned the television off and looked casually up at her. "Got bored of you already, has he?"

She closed her eyes, his spite wounding her instantly.

"I've come to talk."

"Bit late for that, Hermione." He crossed his arms rigidly in front of him, staring straight ahead.

Silence hung between them. She could not think what to say. He was the one who suddenly broke the silence.

"You should have told me who it was. You should have fucking told me." A cold fury had quickly entered his voice and she could sense his body tensed in sudden anger. She feared how it would proceed.

"How could I?"

"Because I asked you. Because I wanted to know. Does what we have ... _had_ ... mean so little to you, that you couldn't even afford me that?"

"I thought ..."

"What? What did you think, Hermione?" He had turned to her now, spitting his words out.

"I thought it would destroy you."

"Oh well, thanks for your concern! Well, you're right. It has destroyed me. But instead of hearing it from you, I have to be told my girlfriend's been shagging a bloody Death Eater from the front page of the Daily fucking Prophet!" He had risen and was shouting at the top of his voice, a mere foot or so away from her.

She was shocked and confused. "I thought Harry or Ginny would have been to see you ..."

"I was away, wasn't I!? I had to go to bloody Bulgaria to inspect the wood for the new League broomsticks."

Her guilt increased. "I'm sorry. How was I supposed to know that? We had actually split up by then, anyway ..."

"No. _We_ had not split up ... _You_ had split up."

Silence descended between them again. He collapsed down onto the sofa, leaning forward, his head in his hands.

"Ron," she began tentatively. "It would have happened anyway. It's better that it's happened sooner, rather than dragging it out, giving you false hope." She paused. "I wasn't happy."

His eyes darted up to her scornfully. "Well, you did a pretty good job of hiding it."

"Yes ... I suppose that was part of the problem ... I was deceiving myself. I just hadn't realised ..."

Silence again. Then his voice, low and desperate, almost inaudible, broke it.

"_Him_ ... Why him, Hermione? ... Of all the people ... that ... man ... Hermione ..." He looked up at her, a look of complete horrified confusion and despair on his tear-stained face. "You've killed me ..."

A sob broke involuntarily from her depths, tears falling rapidly from her eyes now, the extent of his pain clear to her. Her shame was complete. She knew she could never recover fully from the agony she had inflicted on him, but still, despite the desperation that hung between them, she knew she had still done the only thing she could do.

She resisted the urge to rush over as a friend and hug him, try to comfort and soothe him. How could she? What could she now say? Anything would sound either agonising or meaningless to him. She could not tell him how this man had made her feel and live and love far more that she ever thought possible. So far beyond anything she could ever have experienced with Ron. But still, she wanted, needed, to justify her actions somewhat to him.

"He has changed, Ron."

He glared at her, his face sodden with tears.

"I don't actually give a shit."

He turned away from her again, then slowly continued, almost talking to himself. "Why him? Why him? All the things that man has done to my family ... _my family_ ... who has given you so much ... _so much_, Hermione."

A further shame crushed Hermione as she thought of Molly and Arthur, and all the happy, happy times at The Burrow. Pained nostalgia swept through her, but still she could not identify it as regret.

She couldn't speak. She could not explain to him properly, it would be too painful. She could not twist the knife yet deeper. In any case, her emotions allowed her no rational thought.

"I am sorry, Ron. I am sorry ... you have been everything to me and ... I will continue to love you as a friend. I hope that one day, we will be able to become so again properly. I just ... need more ... as do you ... someone else can give you that. We're just ... the wrong people for each other now. I know it doesn't seem like that to you at the moment, but it will."

"Don't patronise me, Hermione," he shot her a vile look. It cut through her.

"I'm sorry ... I don't mean to."

"Yeah, well, you did. You always have. Maybe you're right. I'd be better off without your condescension, your ... _noble tolerance_ of my ... crude, vulgar, _endearing Weasley_ ways," his words burned with spite, but revealed an insight into his understanding of their relationship she had not previously seen. Her shame deepened.

"Don't say that ..."

"Too close to the bone? Yeah well, now you can go and be as patronising and intolerant as you want ... after all ... you'll be taught by a master." He glared at her. She could not stand it.

The pain was too great for them both. What more could be achieved now? If she stayed any longer, they would merely end up hurting each other more and more. She could not do that to him.

She spoke, "I am going now. You need to let me go now, for your sake as much as mine. I'll arrange for my things to be taken away over the next few days." She paused and turned to leave, tears streaming down her face. She turned back to him, and said as clearly as she could between sobs, "Thank you for all you have done for me. I wish you well and hope you find great happiness in the future. You deserve it."

He got up, looking completely defeated and empty, his face desolate with tears. "Hermione ..." he rasped desperately.

"Goodbye, Ron," she spluttered, then opened the door to the flat and headed out into the night.

Not allowing herself time to stop, she hurried quickly to the place she had to go. Faster than she had ever thought possible, she quickly found herself outside Grimmauld Place. She hurried up the front steps of the building and knocked on the door.

A bemused Harry answered, but his face quickly turned solemn when he saw Hermione on his doorstep in clear distress. He knew immediately what must have happened. He stood aside to let her in, but she shook her head, hanging back.

"I've just come to say ... someone needs to be with Ron ... please ...will you go to him?"

Harry looked grave, but nodded his head. Hermione quickly turned and hurried down the steps. Harry called after her. "Hermione!" She turned to meet his eyes. "Are _you_ alright?"

She paused, then nodded briefly, smiling weakly at him, before hurrying away.

Hermione walked as fast as she could, going into a quiet park and sitting on a bench. She wept inconsolably for what seemed hours. Wept for her loss, her shame, her betrayal, all the people she had hurt.

She sat there as the summer night drew in around her, the air growing chilly. The desolation of her soul slowly eased somewhat as she remembered that there was one person waiting for her who was not disappointed in her, wanted her back, whom she wanted to be back with. Her continuing shame made her question briefly whether she should return to him tonight but she realised that was where she belonged. And anyway - where else was she to go?

Sighing deeply and shaking herself out of her fug, she picked up her wand, twirled it briefly in her hand, and disapparated.

Once again, she landed dizzily on the front steps of Malfoy Manor. She looked up. Never had she believed she would welcome the sight of this place so much. She slowly walked up and rang the bell. Almost immediately she heard heavy, quick footsteps and the door opened, light spilling out around her, dazzling her.

He stood there, his sudden presence so comforting and reassuring it nearly brought another rush of tears, but she managed to keep them at bay. He held the door open for her, not speaking, and she walked in. Managing a mere brief exhausted smile in his direction, she went past him and entered the sitting room on the right. A fire crackled in the hearth and the room was welcoming and cosy, as it had been that first night.

She heard him behind her and turned to look at him. He had a slight concerned frown on his face, but remained silent. She knew he was granting her the time to adjust to what he imagined must have happened.

But Hermione knew he was all she wanted, all she needed and she quickly went up to him, and looked up, an almost desperate pleading in her voice. "Hold me. Just hold me."

He swiftly drew her into his strong arms, encircling her, smoothing her hair slightly, while the other arm clasped her tight around the waist. They remained like that, silently entwined in the middle of the room, for an age.

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**It was never going to be easy ... **

**R and R pretty please xxx**


	39. Thirty Nine: Relief

**Here's the next one! You'll be pleased to know that my anxiety of the last few days has well and truly been banished and my muse has returned, as has my predeliction for smut! Thank you for all your lovely comments - they were ... most illuminating and I have just got back from writing a smuttastic chapter 42 and am off to do more. Several more plot ideas came to me in the night, which I am thrilled about, and they are getting the ol' loose ends tied up nicely I hope. There are quite a few people who still need to make an appearance or reappearance and I can assure you, they will, in the not too distant future. **

**But for now, this chapter does exactly what it says on the tin (I hope that isn't a uniquely British expression or else all my lovely American friends will be reading that going ...Huh!?)**

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Thirty Nine - Relief

After a small supper which Hermione hardly touched, they went to bed. Hermione could not contemplate intimacy, even with Lucius, and was touched that he instinctively respected that need. They lay silently in bed. She moved little, but his hand stroked her arm as it so often did. It was as soothing and calming as always, and Hermione hoped he would never stop, the rhythmic, reassuring movement in tune with her slowing heartbeat.

At last, her mind clouded into subconsciousness, and Lucius noted, when a short time later her breathing became so heavy and regular, that sleep had at last taken her. He remained awake for a while longer, his arm still clasping her to him, looking down at her. His lips moved briefly, silently mouthing some words, unknown to all but him.

After a while longer his eyes closed peacefully and he joined her in sleep.

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She awoke before him the next day. His arm was draped heavily across her. She found it ridiculously comforting and as she lay still for fear of disturbing him, a feeling of such relief swept over her that she gasped deeply and suddenly, filling her lungs with the light morning air.

Although the pain of what she had done to Ron would remain deep inside for a long time, the night had soothed much of the immediate agony of yesterday, and in the thin light of late dawn, she acknowledged that a huge weight had been lifted from her.

Ron knew, Draco knew, her bosses knew ... Lucius was ... still here, so real, so vivid ...

She could not help her euphoria bubbling out of her and a laugh escaping her lips. He inhaled deeply and stirred. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth to try to stifle any further sound. He did not move anymore, but his arm seemed to press her down even more heavily, a feeling she revelled in.

She realised that it must still be very early, but she felt more refreshed than she had for a long time. She lay gazing at him, examining his features, so calm as he slept.

He had remarkably long eyelashes, which brushed the skin below his eyes delicately. She could see his cheekbones sharp under his skin. They framed his nose, which was aquiline and noble. And his mouth ... much fuller and darker than she would have imagined before their relationship, but not so full as to detract from his inherent masculinity. His hair fell around his face, a few strands resting on it. She resisted the urge to reach up and brush them away, fearing she would disturb him. She moved her head slightly to just above his and breathed deeply.

God, his smell. She smiled to herself as she remembered how it was that which had triggered her extreme reaction to him in the first place. How could she now live without it?

As the light of day grew ever stronger, she detected him stirring out of his deepest slumber, but still he did not fully awake. However, she could restrain herself no longer, and being as delicate as possible, she lifted his arm up from him, planting numerous soft kisses on it as she went. She wriggled out from him, but immediately set about kissing all over his body, tenderly and gently, still half-trying not to disturb him. She moved down his torso, her lips covering nearly every exquisite part of it. She moved ever further down, for once avoiding the one part of him she so desired, and found herself at his legs. Starting with his right leg, she continued her kisses, finding the muscles surprisingly firm and solid under her lips, even in sleep. His body had aged slowly, like all great wizards, due to his remarkable ability with magic, and she thought with pleasure that he must have the body of a man at least ten years his junior.

The age difference had simply not been an issue for her, but it was comforting to know that they were more or less equals, not only on an intellectual level, but also on a physical one.

Her lips continued to trail further down his leg until they reached his feet. God, even his toes are beautiful, she noted with a smile. She moved to the other foot and worked her way up his left leg. When she reached the top of his thigh this time, she was greeted by his fully aroused member. She had not been expecting it, and she gasped slightly with surprised amusement. She glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, but his head moved slightly on the pillow. If he wasn't fully awake, he was certainly awake enough.

She forced herself to ignore his magnificent erection for a moment and continued her supple kisses back up his abdomen. When she reached a nipple, she allowed her tongue to flick out and run over it briefly, gauging his reaction. He drew a sharp breath in through his nose and arched off the bed a little. She smiled to herself. She felt herself soaking between her legs and could not hold back.

She threw a leg over him and positioned herself above his tip. Holding him low down on the shaft, she rubbed him along her folds and up to her burning nub. _God, that was good_. A low moan escaped her into the silent room. She repeated it, enjoying the feeling of using him unwittingly for her own needs. However, a slight sound issued from his throat, and she knew he must be struggling to maintain his semblance of sleep.

She rubbed him tantalisingly over her clit one more time, then moved into position. Girding herself for the pleasure of his size filling her, she ever so slowly lowered herself onto him. Her head fell back as she felt him stretching her deliciously slowly, inch by inch. A sound, halfway between a sob and a laugh came from her and she pulled her head back over to look down at him.

He had at last opened his eyes and was gazing up at her with the most delicious smile she had ever seen on his face. She raised herself fully up off him, then lowered herself agonisingly slowly, saying simultaneously in her most sultry voice, "Good morning, Mr Malfoy, nice of you to join me."

He could not prevent a deep moan from emerging and he reached down to clasp her hips in his hands. His fingers dug in sharply, but she groaned in the painful pleasure of it, making him grasp ever harder. She continued to raise and lower herself slowly, the agonised ecstasy it fuelled in both of them almost too much to bear. She leant forward, leaning heavily on his chest for leverage and flexing her fingers against him. Her nails dug into his smooth flesh hard and he hissed. She did not withdraw them, but tightened her grip, scraping them down brutally, making angry red lines and drawing some blood. He arched up towards her, his eyes closed in rapture and he rasped out towards her, "Yesss ..."

This was her undoing and she increased her pace, needing her release. Her head was once again thrown back and she felt him harder and larger than ever inside her. She cried out in triumph, unable to stop the thoughts in her head from being spoken aloud. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, Lucius, yes, fuck, so good, _so fucking good,_ can't stop, musn't stop, please, _please,_ make me come, god, need you, _need you always_ ..." Her words were too much for him and he threw his arms down, one hand finding a nipple, and pinching it hard, the other immediately hitting her clit and rubbing severely.

She screamed, a scream of complete sensation, as her walls melted around him and her whole body convulsed in extreme pleasure. "Oh fuck! _Oh fuck, Lucius_! Oh god, _oh my god_ ..." any recognisable words changed into an unending moan of delirium. She was just aware of him beneath her, spasming up time and time again into her, his body raised off the bed almost uncontrollably to bury himself into her as he came. As her sounds died down, his took over. His neck arched up, throwing his head back and the deepest groan was pulled from his depths, a sound which lasted as long as his almost ceaseless pleasure allowed him.

After an age, Hermione eventually tuned back in to her surroundings. She looked down again, almost surprised to find her eyes able to focus. He was gazing up at her with that now familiar look of sheer wonder on his face. To see this expression on the face of Lucius Malfoy, brought on by her, was almost too much to bear and she swiftly leant down to kiss him deeply, trying to stem the tide of emotion welling up inside her.

His hands suddenly clasped around her waist and he spun her over, searching her eyes. It took her by surprise and she squealed joyfully, laughing at his swift action. He leant in to kiss her again, and their tongues twirled, licked, darted, tasted each other, little mewls of pleasure sounding from her in the process.

They kissed like this for several more minutes. He was hard in her again, having not yet come out and he started stroking again, not taking his mouth from hers. She moaned, writhed, arched against him, her desire as ardent as ever. He was pressed firmly down on her, every inch of his body against hers, and every inch of his cock filling her inside. He rubbed her clit with each stroke and it did not take long for her to come pulsatingly again, her ardour transmitting instantly to him. He came almost immediately and they both groaned their pleasure into each other's mouths.

Hermione truly could not believe how she ever survived a moment without him inside her.

After a while he spoke teasingly, "Whatever are you doing lying here idly in bed? Don't you realise what the time is, my dear? We wouldn't want you to be late for work now would we?"

With that she reached her head up swiftly, taking his earlobe in her mouth and biting down painfully on it. He cried out sharply, and responded by reaching down to her breast and tweaking a nipple hard. She sucked in a breath and writhed beneath him yet again.

She realised her lust for him would never end and unless she forced herself to get up now, she never would.

She forced her body to relax completely under him, despite feeling him rock hard inside her yet again. His stamina was staggering.

Her arms fell to her sides and she lolled her head over. "I really have to get up."

He drawled down at her, "Yes, Miss Granger, you're lagging behind. I have already achieved that aim several times this morning."

She laughed out loud at his humour, slapping him not lightly on the arm. "Oh God, stop it! This is hopeless. You're supposed to be making it easier for me!"

"Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Because you have an innate sense of duty and responsibility which, despite your colourful past, has always been apparent, and is indeed an estimable quality to be respected and admired, and is one of the reasons I was attracted to you in the first place." She spoke quickly and with mock seriousness. She finished by smirking up at him.

He smiled down at her and said at length, "My dear, you really do deserve another orgasm."

She laughed again. "Yes, but then I'd have to reciprocate, and it would get terribly late, and then I really would be in trouble and not be able to get on with ... Oh fuck, Lucius!"

His tongue had already encircled her clit.

He had moved down swiftly while she had been gabbling on, and now proceeded to firmly suck, lick and nip at that tender bud which had already received so much attention this morning. Hermione could not believe it was already ready for more. He did not waste time. She felt two fingers thrust urgently up her arse, while his thumb made dizzying circles in her snatch. His tongue retreated down a little, and licked long and slow back up to her taut nub.

"Ohhh ...god ... _please_ ... you are so good ... _so good_ ..." Her moans were constant and he brought his tongue down and up again and again, tantalising her clit each time, moving his fingers and thumb assuredly inside her passages. She did not think she could survive the pleasure. Then he licked firmly down and up again, surrounding her clit with his mouth one final time and clamping down almost painfully hard. The world went black and Hermione screamed even louder that earlier. Her entire body tensed to the point where she thought she was paralysed and then it broke and the pleasure flowed through her exultantly. She shook uncontrollably, a gasp of ecstasy sounding into the room.

He kept his mouth on her for some time, taking in as many of her juices as he could. She reached down and rubbed her fingers in his hair, smiling to herself at what had just happened and both their reactions to it.

Then almost suddenly, he raised himself up to her, rolled her over, slapped her on the arse and ordered her out of bed. "Get up then. Snipworth will be pacing the halls, wondering where you are. You have a reputation to maintain. Up!"

She frowned exaggeratedly at him, but then remembered the incident yesterday with her boss.

"Oh God! I forgot to tell you. Ormus kind of revealed his ... uhh ... feelings for me yesterday."

He raised an eyebrow. "My dear, don't tell me you're surprised. It is evident to the whole Ministry that that man can hardly keep his hands or eyes off you. And who can blame him?" He leant in and kissed her breast, taking the nipple in his mouth yet again.

She laughed but pulled him off. "Was it that obvious? I mean, I suspected recently, but never really ..." Her voice trailed off before speaking again. "Do you mind having him working so closely with me?"

"My dear, why should I mind? Anyway, you would never want a man like that ... you've got me." He smirked deliciously arrogantly up at her and she smacked him hard across the chest, catching a nipple with her nail and causing him to yelp slightly.

She sat up decisively, determined to get up, but spoke frivolously down at him just before doing so, "Yes, ... and you've got me ... whether you like it or not ...!" She had merely said it as a light-hearted comment, but when she heard her words in the air between them, she stopped and looked back at him seriously. He was smiling at her enigmatically as ever.

She spoke seriously this time. "Do you?"

He maintained eye-contact, slightly confused. "Do I what?"

"Like it or not?"

He turned away from her and exhaled deeply. A sudden jolt of fear shot through her. At worst she thought he would not reply, at best she thought he may reply with another of his non-commital, enigmatic responses. She resisted pressing him for an answer, but could feel her heart beating louder and faster in her chest.

Then just when she thought a sob would break from her, he turned back and raised himself up, looking deep into her eyes.

"I like it. I like it so much that I cannot imagine how I ever existed before you."

The sob did then break out, but for a very different reason to why it originated. She smiled gently, trying hard to stop the tears. She was relieved that the urgent need to get ready for work allowed her to leave the room swiftly, preventing him from seeing how moved she was.

She came back in after showering and got dressed silently. She noticed again that his eyes did not leave her.

He had got out of bed before she was ready to leave and crossed to her. "Are you eating breakfast? I'll come down with you."

"I'll just grab some toast. I really have to go." Her duty to her job had returned to her. It was almost pleasingly reassuring, more so that it sat so easily in her new relationship. Her morning preparation had moved easily from one man to the other. The sudden realisation moved swiftly from reassurance to the shame she had felt so deeply the night before.

But gazing up at the wizard in front of her, her shame passed and she raised herself up to kiss him tenderly.

"I've got to get going. I'll be back later. What are you doing today?"

"I'm seeing the estate manager, and then a meeting with one of my business partners."

Business partners? She realised there was so much about him she knew nothing about, and felt once again that sense of inadequacy she had felt the morning after they had first made love. Still, it was reassuring that he had interests and motivation in his life. She had started to wonder how he filled his days.

She went downstairs. Just as she was leaving the Manor he appeared, fully dressed in his robes. She daren't go to him, for fear that she would never leave again, and stood slightly awkwardly apart.

"Goodbye. I'll see you later." She summoned the courage to go over and kiss him lightly on the lips, not allowing herself to lean into him too much. But before she could leave he had encircled her arms in his hands and held her firmly. He looked down at her, the slight haughtiness again fleeting on his features.

"I will take you out tonight."

Her heart leapt at the prospect. She smiled widely. "Where?"

He pursed his lips slightly, as if unsure. "Dinner. Theatre?"

"A _muggle_ play!?"

He raised a cynical eyebrow at her now predictable sarcastic teasing. She felt embarrassed at her tiresome response. "I'm sorry." She hung her head briefly in shame, resolved not to do it again. "I would absolutely love to. You know that."

He looked down, a satisfied smile slowly caressing his features.

As she walked to the door, he followed her. She wondered about the evening. "What play is it?"

"Shakespeare." He reached down to open the door for her.

"Which one?" She had stepped outside, but turned back for the answer.

He leant down to kiss her lightly on the lips, before raising himself up to smirk enticingly down at her. "The Taming of the Shrew."

She opened her mouth in affronted indignation.

He smiled arrogantly, drawled, "See you later," and shut the door.

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**Ah me ...**

**Still like? xxx**


	40. Forty: Living

**Next one! This one contains a scene which I had had in my head for a long time, and finally found the right moment to include in here! You'll know which bit I mean when you read it!! ;)**

**Now, folks - I am going away tomorrow for five days, and may not be able to update!!! This is unlikely, but there is a chance the updates won't be so frequent - maybe every other day or so! I also have lots of writing to do - it's all in my head, but needs time to be written down! Just to say, be patient from now on. I officially at this moment, only have up to chapter 42 on disk, but promise lots more as long as I can get it down!**

**Can I say a huge huge thank you to all you lovely readers and reviewers who give me such joy just knowing you're out there! I love the connection we have and hope it continues! Anyway - here's 40 - enjoy! x**

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Forty - Living

Hermione went about her work with pleasing regularity and efficiency. She wondered how Ron was, and decided to send an owl to Harry to find out.

The distance between them was not great, Harry was probably somewhere in the Ministry today anyway, in the Auror Department. She could expect a reply soon, she hoped. That feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach returned as she waited for a reply, but after only half an hour an owl fluttered through her open door with a parchment. She took it quickly and read.

"_Dear Hermione,_

_We both went over to see Ron as soon as you had left yesterday. He was, as you can imagine, very upset, but we brought him back with us. We chatted all night, and I hope we have been able to sort things through for him slightly. He seemed a little less fraught this morning. Ginny is with him. He may go and stay at the Burrow for a while._

_Let me know that you are well._

_Love, as ever, _

_Harry_

_x"_

Harry's thoughtful letter eased her mind, and the tension she had felt dispersed again. She was able to refocus on her work successfully.

At lunchtime she went to her usual cafe and sat thinking about Lucius taking her out that night. _The Taming of the Shrew _was one of her favourite plays, all about sexual politics and relationships, albeit in an archaic way. She had read about this production and it had received good reviews. She couldn't wait.

As she was making her way back to the Ministry, she realised she had to pop in to see an official in a remote department. She would have to take the elevator. It would take a while at this time of day, as wizards and witches criss-crossed the labyrinth of corridors and floors of the vast building.

She made her way to the elevator, there was already a crowd waiting to take it. She sighed slightly to herself. This would not be fun.

The elevator arrived and she went in, raising her eyes to the sky as she entered. She moved to the back, allowing room for others. She had a long way to go.

The lift headed off rapidly, moving along, jerking and jolting spitefully, she felt. Hermione closed her eyes, waiting for the experience to end. It stopped again. More people entered.

She breathed in. A smell. That smell.

Hermione's eyes snapped opened. Lucius had got into the lift. She almost fainted with the shock. Everyone inside turned to look at them.

He stood looking haughtily at her before moving towards the back of the lift to stand next to her.

She could hear her heart beating and her breathing growing rapid. She knew all eyes were upon them and what they would do next. He smiled tantalisingly down at her and drawled quite audibly, "Miss Granger. What a delicious surprise."

At first, she shot him a reproachful look, which he responded to with an arrogantly raised eyebrow. She could not deny the effect this return to his familiar public persona elicited in her, however, and she felt her cheeks flushing.

It was too intoxicating, and she decided to play along with his little game, fixing her face into a smirk, before purring back at him, "Mr Malfoy. I had not expected to see you here." There was no reason for them not to use their given names as their relationship was now public knowledge, but the mock formality in this public place was so tantalisingly erotic to them both that they could not resist.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises, Miss Granger, as well you know."

Hermione smiled seductively at him before turning away and immediately meeting the eyes of a large witch dressed in flowing purple robes, staring intently at her. Hermione flashed her an exaggeratedly sweet smile, making the witch blush indignantly and reluctantly turn away.

The atmosphere in the elevator was almost unbearable. Hermione knew everyone was acutely tuned in to her and Lucius, and her physical proximity to him in such a heated environment made her tingle and a familiar rush of wetness leak from between her thighs.

She had no idea what he was doing there, but had no reason to be suspicious. He was an eminent wizard; there were many reasons to be visiting the Ministry. He had said he had a business meeting. It was probably here.

The elevator jolted to life again. Hermione felt her breathing rapid and heavy in her chest and the tingle between her legs turned to an aching throb, desperate for relief. She glanced up at him. He was staring straight ahead, his face relaxed, but set straight. The lift stopped and more people entered. They moved further into the back corner of the lift. Lucius turned towards her and stepped in further. It wasn't entirely necessary, but Hermione welcomed his increased proximity.

Another jolt from the lift. Lucius still did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the wall.

She thought she may faint. But just when the tension became unbearable, she felt something touch her leg. She recognised his firm, hot, pliant fingers immediately. She gasped slightly at the shock, her entire being immediately electrified, on fire. His arrogant audaciousness teased and excited her almost as much as his touch, and her submission to him and the circumstances was intoxicating. She desperately willed his warm, supple fingers to seek higher.

His hand was shielded from prying eyes by his body and elegantly copious robes. She could easily have moved in further, but she forced herself to remain still, not wishing to draw attention to them and wanting to make him work for it, so delicious was this feeling.

His hand worked its way under her skirt and ever further up her thigh, circling, prodding, stroking. Her taut nub burned for his touch and her eyes closed in anticipation. Her heart beat loud in her chest, she was sure everyone in the lift could hear it.

Her mouth fell open and she felt a sob working its way from her depths. She bit down on her lip to stifle it, forcing her eyes open to look at him again. He remained as impassive as ever, staring straight ahead.

She knew people were staring, but she didn't care. She thought she would come from the anticipation alone, but suddenly his hand was there, moving her knickers aside, and deliberately, exquisitely probing her soaking folds.

Her belly somersaulted with pleasure, and the situation she found herself in made the feeling so unbearably intense she wondered how she could remain silent and impassive. She was desperate for him to look at her, to know what he was doing to her, but he infuriatingly refused to do so.

She felt two of his hard, long fingers slip up smoothly into her, stroking, rubbing, then out again, up to her electric bud of nerves. She sucked in a long breath. The purple witch looked round at her with undisguised contempt. She hardly noticed.

He continued his exploration of her, his fingers probing into her depths, then out again, stroking languorously up to her clit. She did not think she could draw enough breath to stop from passing out and her mouth opened to pull in more air. The clenching in her core drove her mad and she was desperate for release.

His fingers moved rapidly now, circling, caressing, rubbing, pinching. She was there. Her body froze with expectant rapture, then the wave crashed and exquisite pleasure heaved its way through her upright body. Her eyes closed and her head fell back, hitting the wall of the elevator with a thud. His fingers did not leave her for the longest time and the convulsions shook her insides over and over. It was so intense that she could not stifle a slight cry erupting from her agonised depths, and her body sagged as she eventually came down.

A plump witch with a friendly face just in front of her turned to her with a look of concern on her face. "Are you all right, dear? You sound a bit distressed."

"Oh no ... I'm fine ... thank you ... it's just ... terribly hot in here, don't you think?" Hermione managed to stammer out, her breathing irregular.

The blond wizard in front of her at last lowered his gaze and met her eyes. His were quite impassive. "Are you quite well, Miss Granger? We wouldn't want anything untoward to befall you, would we now?"

"Thank you for your concern, Mr Malfoy. Something came upon me quite suddenly, but I find I am quite recovered now."

"How pleasing."

"Indeed."

The lift jerked to a halt. "Aah! Here at last. What a tiresome journey." Lucius spoke wearily but with a teasing drawl in his voice that only Hermione could detect. He turned to her, fixed his eyes into hers, his mouth raised in the merest hint of a smirk and drawled, "Miss Granger. Until later." He inclined his head to her and swept out of the lift.

The eyes which had followed him out immediately swivelled to look back at Hermione. She kept her head high, not meeting any of them, but an even broader smirk could not be concealed from her features.

Hermione practically skipped to see the wizard she had been on her way to. He was rather bemused by the exultant witch who entered his office to discuss the protocol of inter-departmental parchment directives with such enthusiasm and humour.

She made her way back to her own department in equally high-spirits, her radiance attracting even more attention than the recent publicity had provoked. She set about the rest of her tasks efficiently and swiftly, once again completing her work to a ridiculously high standard. Ormus was away for the day, which was a relief, and Priscilla seemed to be more at ease with her now that things were out in the open.

At just after four o'clock the door opened and Lucius appeared. He was already wearing a smart but discreet suit, perfect for the theatre. He moved swiftly over and sat down elegantly in the chair, smirking languidly across at her.

"Are you feeling better after your … distress … of earlier?"

The shock of his sudden appearance in her office and his haughty words brought a familiar rush of excitement to her. She struggled to remain composed, but fixed him with her eyes and said calmly and seriously, "I have never felt better."

He did not respond for a while, then merely smiled slightly at her, before humming in concurrence, "Hmm …"

His ability so easily to shift his personality amazed her. In terms of confident arrogance, he had returned to his behaviour of past years, despite the traumatic experiences of the last few days. She could not deny the effect his haughty demeanour had on her. It fuelled her fervour for him ever more.

She shook herself slightly then asked confidently. "Why were you here today? You didn't tell me."

"I did not realise I would be coming here. The meeting I told you about precipitated the need for a visit. I had little time, and didn't think I would be able to stop in to see you, so our little … encounter … proved most fortuitous." He smirked across at her, paused, then continued. "I cannot, nor will not, tell you of all my arrangements and appointments, my dear. That would be most tedious and unnecessary for us both. Do not expect it of me."

He was not angry, but Hermione could tell he was making himself clear to her. She felt slightly ashamed. "Of course not. I just was surprised, that's all."

"Not a bad surprise, though … hmm?"

She looked up at him and smiled. "That's one way of putting it."

He remained silently for a while, studying her, then breathed in deeply and suddenly, and spoke, "I trust you have completed your tasks for the day. Come, you can take me for a drink. I may even allow you to pay." He smirked over to her, and she could not help but smile back at him.

"Yes, I've finished. But if I hadn't," she fixed him with her eyes, "you would have had to wait."

There was a humoured silence between them for a moment, as each vied for control, while knowing equally that they were both willing to relinquish it to the other at any given time.

She stood and walked over, taking her jacket from the stand and crossing back to tidy her desk while putting it on. She was relieved she would not have to change for the theatre. He watched her carefully all the while; she could feel his eyes on her. She picked up her bag, then walked slowly over, stopping directly in front of him and looking down, the haughtiness now hers.

"Come along then. What are you waiting for?"

She turned smoothly away and walked out of the office, smiling at Priscilla on the way. She knew he was behind her, but did not look round until they had left the Department.

Hermione took him to a busy bar she often went to with her muggle friends. It was lively and full of people unwinding after a long day. Lucius looked slightly unsettled at the throng of muggles before him, but Hermione was determined for him to overcome the distaste he was clearly experiencing. She took his hand and led him up to the bar confidently, sensing the slight pull back on her. She ignored it.

She leaned in and ordered a gin and tonic, then turned to him. "What would you like?"

"Firewhisky."

She eyed him with disapproving cynicism. The barmaid, pretty and provocative, looked confused but then leaned over to Lucius, and spoke, a clearly flirtatious tone in her voice, "We have a lot of different whiskys here, but I've never heard of that one. Perhaps you could educate me about it some time."

Lucius' eyebrows raised curiously. The barmaid merely smiled seductively up at him. Hermione stepped in front of him, and said abruptly, "Make it two G and T's" The she turned to Lucius, reached up and kissed him deeply. She was relieved when he kissed her equally fervently back. The barmaid sneered at Hermione before turning to get the drinks.

After paying as swiftly as she could, she ushered him over to a table in the corner. The constant attention he received from women was slightly tiresome. She had never noticed it so obviously in the Wizarding world, she supposed due to his reputation, or merely the aloof, fearful respect his name provided. But his anonymity in the Muggle world allowed his looks and demeanour to attract unlimited approving glances.

She sat down huffily, taking a long sip from her gin. He looked across at her in some amusement.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

She sighed. "That woman annoyed me, that's all."

"I thought she was rather pleasant."

Hermione tutted loudly and glared at him. He merely chuckled slightly at her petulant reaction. "I'd forgotten what it is like to inspire jealousy. It is rather invigorating."

"Yeah, well don't get used to it." She turned back to her drink, not speaking again.

He eyed her curiously for a while, then set his face straight. "Hermione." She did not look up. He repeated himself firmly, "Hermione."

She slowly raised her eyes to meet his. "As long as I have you, I will never need to, nor want to, look at another woman again."

At first she could not look at him, so touched and shamed was she by what he had said. Then she felt a hand cup her chin and raise her face up to him. He brought his mouth down to hers and kissed her tenderly. She smiled against it. "I'm sorry." They kissed again. "But, you know ... that's what they all say."

He kissed her again before whispering, "I'm not 'all'."

She laughed slightly. "No. You most certainly are not." It was her turn now. She reached her hand up round his neck and brought his mouth down hard on hers, opening it with her lips and allowing her tongue to run over his teeth. He responded and her hand clenched around the fine hairs at the base of his neck, causing him to groan into her open mouth.

They were unaware of anyone else around them, but then, from the back of her consciousness, Hermione became aware of a voice calling.

"'Mione! 'Mione! You're gonna have to come up for air at some point."

The voice eventually pierced her awareness and she tore herself away reluctantly.

Looking up blearily, her eyes fell on two of her muggle friends, who were looking down at them with ardent amused curiosity.

"At last! God, I thought she would never get round to letting us meet you."

One of the girls smiled down at Lucius, "I'm Milly."

The other one did the same, "Sophie. You must be Ron."

Lucius looked as if he had been forced to drink one of Harry's failed potions from first year. Hermione could not stifle a laugh bursting out of her at the ludicrousness of the assumption, but also the awkwardness of the situation she now found herself in.

"No, no," she spluttered helplessly. "God, no … uhh … Milly, Sophie … this is …," she suddenly realised she wasn't quite sure if she should introduce him as himself. Did he want his name to become knowledge to muggles?

"Lucius Malfoy." He had stood up and extended his hand smoothly to both the girls in turn, finishing her sentence for her. They shook his hand, smiling admiringly up at him as they did so. "Won't you join us. I would offer you a drink, but I see you have just got them. Another for later?"

"No, that's fine. Maybe later. Sit down," Milly gushed out, raising her eyebrows in exaggerated approval at Hermione.

"So, 'Mione, when did this happen? You've kept this very quiet." Sophie questioned.

Hermione suddenly wished she had no friends, and flushed with embarrassment. She could feel Lucius eyeing her curiously. "Oh, about a month, I guess."

Milly turned back to Lucius. "So, Lucian …"

"Lucius," Hermione quickly corrected, a little too pointedly.

"Lucius … sorry … unusual name … what do you do?"

"Oh, this … that … I have some small business interests and occasionally help out in government, but generally I am a person of …"

"Independent means," Hermione found herself saying, not entirely sure if she should have.

Sophie gasped exaggeratedly. "A gentleman, loaded AND gorgeous! Hermione! You have done well! There must be a catch."

"Oh yes, there must be," continued Milly teasingly. "What is it, Lucius? Do you have a dark and dangerous past?"

"Something like that …" he replied languidly.

The girls giggled stupidly and Hermione wished the ground would open up and swallow her, although she had to admit, Lucius seemed to be taking it with good humour.

"And how did you two meet?" gushed Sophie.

Hermione glanced nervously at Lucius. He was merely smiling mildly at her friends, seemingly unperturbed. She did not know what to say. Lucius answered for her.

"Hermione was at school with my son."

Sophie and Milly were clearly bemused by this revelation and glanced with curious interest at each other.

"Oh ... right ... at that school in Scotland you went to?"

"That's right," Hermione finally spoke, "that school in Scotland."

"So ... was Lucius' son in your year, 'Mione? Was he a friend of yours?" They were digging, clearly intrigued by the age difference.

"He was in my year."

They waited for more, an answer to their other question. They did not receive it.

However, they didn't press further. The realisation that Lucius was old enough to be Hermione's father was fascinating enough for now.

"And tell me, Lucius," continued Milly, "is your son as gorgeous as you?"

Hermione could hardly look.

Lucius merely smiled and replied smoothly, "You flatter me. As far as Draco is concerned, I believe there are many who may say so ... although Hermione ...," he glanced at her, "is not one of them."

"Well, you must introduce us, musn't he, 'Mione?"

"Not really," Hermione replied wearily.

"Dr .. Dra ...? What did you say he was called?"

"Draco," Lucius answered fluidly.

"Another unusual name. God, what interesting names your family has. You sound all dark and mysterious and magical ..."

A rather strange strangulated laugh suddenly escaped Hermione, causing her two friends and Lucius to look round at her in surprise. She stood up quickly. "Right. We have to go. Lovely to see you. Come on, Lucius. Let's go."

"My dear, I was going to buy these two delightful friends of yours a drink."

"Yes, well, my two 'delightful' friends will have to make do without. We'll be late. Come on."

"Oh come on, 'Mione, don't be such a kill joy," countered Sophie.

"Sorry. We'll catch up another time." She smiled abruptly, reached down for Lucius' hand and forcibly pulled him up from the chair.

He turned and looked down at the two girls sitting, still bemused by their friend's sudden departure. "Ladies. It was a pleasure."

Before they could reply, Lucius had been pulled unceremoniously away and out into the street.

Once outside, he drew his hand out of her grasp and adjusted his clothes, refusing to move until he had done so. He spoke while dusting himself off. "And what was all that about?"

Hermione huffed indignantly. "They were just being so silly. And they were saying things I wasn't comfortable with. I'm surprised you were. Didn't you think they were getting a bit too close to the wire?"

"They would never know the reality, my dear."

"Aargh! Don't be so ... so tolerant!" Frustration raged through her.

"Tolerant!?" His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Now there's a novelty. I believe that is the first time in my life that anyone has described me as 'tolerant'."

"You know what I mean. They were just being so ... so ..."

"Muggle?"

She glared at him. He smirked down at her. His arrogance remained, but his open mind and ability to read her emotions infuriated her. That was her prerogative, surely.

She flounced off down the street, but was relieved to hear his heavy tread not far behind. She slowed slightly, allowing him to catch up. They walked on in silence for a while.

Hermione realised that her emotional outburst had mainly been brought about by the fact that she realised she could not keep him to herself forever. He did have a life beyond her, as did she beyond him. So far, they had been entirely wrapped up in each other, no one else had mattered, the rest of the world had disappeared. Tonight with her friends, the harsh realisation that he would interact with others, that he wasn't entirely her own, hit her hard.

She stopped suddenly, breathing heavily, and turned to him. She looked up.

"I want you all to myself. I can't stand it otherwise."

He looked down at her, then reached a hand up to stroke her face. "Yes, you can."

She reached over and encircled her arms around him swiftly, holding him so close, it took the wind out of him. He reached his arms around her and held her firmly, stroking her hair. It was as soothing as always.

Still, Hermione was unsettled. Now that their relationship was out in the open, now that they could be a 'normal' couple, she would have to confront the reality of who he was even more. Yes, she adored him for that, but the reality of living with it from day to day had not struck her until now. His pride, his arrogance, his magnetism, his emotional detachment, all had fuelled her desire for him previously, and still did, but it certainly brought a dimension to their relationship hitherto unaddressed.

The reality of being Lucius Malfoy's partner suddenly weighed down on her. And Hermione Granger felt disturbingly inadequate.

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**Oh poor Hermione - there's no need!**

**Let me know your thoughts, if you wish. Cheers, m'dears! xxx**


	41. Forty One: Visit

**I'm here, I'm here! I haven't abandoned you!! Unfortunately, uploading, or even getting anywhere near online has proved impossible in the last few days. So so sorry! Hope this chapter makes up for it - it's quite long and significant! Feel very bad that I've been out of touch with you all. Even this is a special mad dash to get this one uploaded, so probably won't be able to respond to reviews for a couple of days still. Anyway - enjoy (if that is the right word!) xxx**

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Forty One - Visit

They walked peacefully through the streets, Hermione trying hard to banish the insecurity which had beset her earlier. She was so at ease in his company, and since they were no longer interacting with anyone else, she was largely able to do so. Still, she knew the niggling insecurities would return at some point. She was relieved when they had stopped at a small, intimate restaurant, well off the beaten track, to grab a quick pre-theatre meal. It only took a short time, and they had then continued on.

Hermione noted that Lucius seemed much more at ease amongst muggles now, as long as the crowds didn't become too loud and oppressive. They largely walked silently, content with each other, her arm resting in his. At one point she reached over and rested her head briefly on his upper arm, turning and kissing the material of his jacket. She would not have seen him smile in response.

They got to the theatre, an old Victorian one, not large, and took their seats after buying a programme. At last, Hermione could not prevent her excitement bubbling out of her. She leaned forward in her seat, babbling on about the lead actress and how she'd seen her in this and that and how good she was. Lucius listened with silent good humour.

The play started. It was an outstanding production, witty and fluid. They were both engrossed.

During the interval, Lucius allowed Hermione to prattle on about the scenes they had so far seen. He spoke little, but she could tell he listened to her observations respectfully.

At the end of the play, she applauded excitedly, and turned to him, her eyes glowing. He studied her intently, a faint smile on his face.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked softly.

"What do you think?" She leaned in and kissed him.

On leaving the theatre, they walked once again through the streets.

"I'm surprised you approve so much of that play; a woman finding herself through the dominance of a man."

"Is that the way you see it?"

He did not reply, merely waited for her to rise further to his bait.

"I think the speech she gives at the end is entirely sarcastic. She does it to amuse him, to humour him in front of the others. She knows that he knows they're going to have a much more fun and fiery time than that! She would never become completely subservient to him. He wouldn't want her if she was. He found himself through her, if anything."

"It is easy to take that point of view today. I'm not sure a Shakespearean audience would have seen it that way."

"Well, that's the beauty of Shakespeare - he endures. His plays can be interpreted to suit any time period."

"At least I know what to do with you now when you're ..."

"When I'm what?"

"_Froward, peevish, sullen, sour, and not obedient to my honest will_." He raised a mischievous eyebrow.

Hermione laughed at his perfect quoting of the play. She turned and gave him a light-hearted whack across his chest. "Would I ever be?"

He raised his eyebrows sardonically. "I can think of one or two occasions."

She leaned into him. "Aah, but like Petruchio – you love it really. Anyway, you know what they did immediately after that speech, don't you? ... Bed! The solution to all problems." Her hand reached down over his abdomen and gently cupped between his legs. He breathed in sharply and she immediately felt a stirring under her hand. Now it was her turn to quote. "_In token of which duty, if he please, my hand is ready ... may it do him ease."_ She smiled wickedly up at him. He smirked in response, but turned to carry on walking.

"I'm not sure that is entirely what was meant by that line."

"Oh, I think that is _exactly_ what was meant."

"The precise line before that is 'place your hand beneath your husband's _foot_', indicating a willingness to serve. _That_ ... was not my foot."

"And you ... are not my husband." Now it was her turn to turn and walk away, smiling to herself, but aware that she had introduced a subject neither of them had dared voice previously - that of their future.

They walked on, silent. It was not an awkward silence, as it never was between them, but both seemed to be contemplating what was said. The fact that no tension existed reassured Hermione, and she dared ask herself the question, could she imagine spending the rest of her life with him, being _married_ to him?

There was only one answer, one that she had known for a while.

Yes.

Despite the age difference, their extraordinary history, his past, his continuing arrogance and pride, he was all she wanted, all she could ever imagine wanting.

But, what of him? Could he imagine being with her? Hermione realised with a heavy heart that she had no real idea. Yes, he declared his need for her, his devotion to her, but he seemed to live only in the present. He had had to overcome so much to get to where he was now, that the future seemed to be a step too far at the moment. He had never even told her he loved her. Would he ever? Could he ever?

The anxiety which had gripped her earlier in the evening overtook her again, and she was relieved when she felt his large hand reach down and entwine her fingers in his.

They continued peacefully, Hermione trying her hardest not to dwell on the questions which had entered her head.

At length, they turned into a quiet side street and disapparated back to the Manor.

Hermione felt worse than usual when she arrived, and sat down with a thud in the hallway, where he had brought them. Her mind swirled, and she thought she may lose consciousness. He knelt down to her, supporting her back. "Are you alright?"

She nodded slowly, his hands immediately imparting a strength to her. She breathed deeply, the dizziness eventually passing, and looked up at him, smiling teasingly, "Maybe we should just get a car."

His eyebrows raised in clear disapproval. "I may have accepted a lot, but I will never go that far."

"I doubted as much," she smirked.

He helped her up, and supported her into the sitting room. "I think you need a night cap."

She wasn't so sure, but was happy to sit with him, not wanting to bring the evening to an end. She sat on the sofa, while he went and poured himself a whisky, not firewhisky she noted, but an old single malt Glenlivet . "Would you like one? Or possibly something else?" he queried.

She smiled. "Something else. Surprise me."

He gave her a look which said, _oh, I can do that_, and turned back to the drinks cabinet. He reached for a decanter containing an amber liquid and poured some for her.

He walked over slowly and handed her the glass, eyeing her to see how she reacted. She looked up at him, before sniffing the liquid. A deep honeyed aroma filled her senses and immediately banished any remaining cloudiness which lurked there. She inhaled deeply, reminded of the intensity his smell drew out. She brought the glass to her lips and drank. Rich, deep, sweet tastes of ripe apples, cinnamon and honey filled her mouth, along with an extra quality she could not distinguish. It infused her mind as much as her taste buds and she felt a deep peace suddenly encompass her.

She sighed out involuntarily, her eyes closing with the sensuous joy the drink had brought. "What is it?" she heard herself saying.

"A draft known only to my family." She couldn't help feeling suspicious. She may trust him, but she still found it hard to accept any other Malfoy or their past endeavours. He continued, sitting beside her. "I had an ancestor who was a distiller and potion master. He combined his knowledge of the two to come up with that. It is called 'idlelight'."

She could not deny the exquisite taste of the drink and the overwhelming feeling of joy it was spreading through her. "It's amazing," she said dreamily. "Is it enchanted?"

"Naturally."

"I feel ... very ..." she stretched out, lying across his lap, " ... happy ..."

"Hmm ..." he placed a hand on her hip, slowly caressing up and down.

"Lucius?"

"Yes?"

"Do I make you happy?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"Happier than before?"

He drew in a breath, then answered, "Yes."

"Does that surprise you?"

"No."

"Does it scare you?"

His hand stopped moving on her momentarily.

"No." He started caressing again.

Her eyes started to close, her breathing slowed. "You make me ... happier than I could ever imagine ... I want ...," _yawn_, "I want ... you ... forever." She snuggled into his lap, her mind drifting into unconsciousness, her last words formed as if in a dream, "Do you want me forever?"

She was asleep. He stared down at the perfect creature before him, so tender, vulnerable, brilliant, trusting and beautiful in his lap. He spoke simply into the silence of the room. "Yes."

He left her sleeping on his lap for over an hour, long after he had finished his whisky. The fire died down and the clock struck one.

With one final look at the woman asleep before him, he drew his hands under her, lifted her in his arms, and carried her upstairs to bed.

__________________________________________________________________

Hermione woke to birdsong at the window. She was aware that the mornings were not as warm as they had been of late; autumn was starting to draw in. She did not mind. The smells and colours around her invigorated her senses and left her deeply satisfied. She rolled over and was disappointed to find that Lucius was not next to her, but glancing at the clock she saw that it was quite late. A brief panic overtook her that she would be late for work, but then she remembered that she had agreed to go in later that day due to a reorganisation in the department. She lay back down, relieved and happy.

Her mind stretched back to the conversations of the previous night. She dimly recalled asking some quite significant questions and receiving more than satisfactory answers. The warm glow that the idlelight had imparted to her remained, and she smiled contentedly to herself, running her hands through the lush silks and velvets that surrounded her. She wondered why she had ever felt nervous or inadequate about a relationship with him. She rose and showered, dressing in a revealing top and jeans, newly invigorated. She went to the shutters and flung them back, inhaling deeply. She was immediately met by the rich, verdant smell of dewy grass and it intoxicated her nearly as much as the drink had the night before. She laughed with joy at the assault on her senses.

But she longed for him, wondered where he was, and after slipping on her shoes, went to find him. As she got to the head of the stairs, she heard a noise in the hallway and her heart leapt with anticipation. God, she wanted to hold him.

She ran down the first few stairs, turned the corner to where she would see him before her and stopped dead, her heart plunging from within her.

There in the hallway stood the taut, slender figure of Narcissa Malfoy.

On hearing someone on the stairs, the former Mrs Malfoy turned and looked to see who it was. Her eyes froze for an instant, but other than that, she did not look remotely shocked or surprised to see Hermione there. They locked eyes for a moment, Hermione realising she wore an undignified expression of horror on her face, then Narcissa slowly turned away from her, before calling out, "Tibby!"

Receiving no response, she tutted loudly before continuing, "Where is that wretched elf when you want it?"

Hermione had descended the remaining steps, an agonising curiosity consuming her to know what this woman was doing back here and how they would both react to the other's presence.

Narcissa called impatiently again into the silence of the house, "Tibby! Where is your master?"

Again there was no response. Narcissa turned quite calmly to Hermione and said succinctly, "Perhaps you could tell me where my husband is?"

Despite the fact that he was no longer her husband and she should at least be asking this woman what she was doing here, Hermione could only mumble, "I ... I don't know."

Narcissa sniffed, before turning and walking past her into the dining room. Hermione followed her, an almost magnetic pull keeping her near her, desperate to know what she would do.

Narcissa went over to a drawer in a dresser and pulled out a cigarette which she lit with her wand. She inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out into the room. Hermione doubted she would ever have done that when living here, but her innate knowledge of the layout of the room sent an emptiness through Hermione that made her knees buckle.

Narcissa walked along the dining table, running her thin fingers over it. "Hmm. It's not like the last one. That one fitted the proportions of the room so well. Still, we couldn't have another reminder of ..." her voice trailed off bitterly. "Poor Lucius – never could quite face up to things." Her tone was flat and cold. She examined the flowers on the table. "Interesting arrangement." She turned to Hermione. "Yours?" Hermione nodded. Narcissa drew another deep breath on her cigarette, appraising the flowers disinterestedly. "Doesn't quite work, does it?"

The spite of her words at last fired Hermione's resolve. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see my husband."

"To discuss what? And, as far as I am aware, he is no longer your husband."

Narcissa turned to her again. "I have no intention of discussing my private matters with you. And as far as my marriage is concerned, it will take a lot more than a stupid little muggle-derived law to annul it. A pureblood marriage is namely that, sealed in blood. It may be over nominally, but Lucius and I will only ever be bound to each other, nothing will change that." She glared at Hermione, before turning dismissively away again, "Don't trouble yourself over it. A girl like you couldn't possibly understand."

Her words had brought a wave of nausea over Hermione, but she was determined not to rise to the bait.

"Legally, and in Lucius' eyes, your marriage is over, that is all that matters. And, anyway, I understand it was you who initiated the separation to start with."

"Hmm ... my husband was no longer the man I married. Things change. Still, certain things are more important than mere emotions. Again ... you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, I think I do."

Narcissa turned once more to shoot Hermione a vicious look. She walked over to the younger woman, resting her arm holding the cigarette on the other folded across her. There was no denying her cool, frosty beauty, but her face had a pinched bitterness which detracted from her good looks. She looked Hermione up and down. "I can see the appeal. And I'm sure you flatter him. Lucius could never resist his ego being stroked. Still ... the novelty will soon wear off ... once you can't keep up with him any longer."

Hermione felt another anguished lurch in her belly and had to restrain herself from running from the room. Narcissa noted the twist on Hermione's face and smirked across at her. "He's good in bed, isn't he? Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're the first he's ever got to feel like that. But watch out - life will eventually get in the way ... but men don't understand that. They always want more ...And if they can't get it at home ..." Her face stared off into the distance, flicked with pain.

Hermione thought she would be sick, but her agony at the words simply fired her resolve and she spoke boldly, "I don't know where Lucius is, perhaps he has gone out. I suggest you leave now and arrange an appointment to discuss whatever it is you need to discuss at a later date."

Narcissa Malfoy merely laughed. "You sound like his secretary, not his lover, as is proclaimed for all to see on every page of The Quibbler!"

"I haven't seen it."

"Oh you should, my dear, it makes for very entertaining reading."

"I'm surprised you were interested."

Narcissa's smile faded. A new boldness took hold of Hermione.

"And please put your cigarette out. I should have said before. We don't like smoking in the house."

Narcissa eyed her cynically. "_We?_ ... _The house?_ ... And whose house would that be exactly? Yours? Oh no ... You seem to forget I lived here for over twenty years, my dear."

"Lucius tells me you spent a lot of time away from it. That you did not care to be here."

Narcissa looked affronted. "Did he now? My my, you have been getting to know each other, haven't you?"

She turned to leave the room, but Hermione called her back, "Narcissa."

The older woman turned slowly, and eyed her curiously.

"I never had the chance to thank you for what you did for Harry. It was very brave and noble."

Narcissa's face tensed, an expression of bewilderment crossing it briefly, then it quickly regained its frosty edge. "I did it for my son, for my family ... and look where it got me. Ironic, isn't it ... I helped save your friends and you, only to hand you over to my husband."

Hermione felt a strange twang of remorse at the truth of her words. She almost felt like apologising.

Narcissa turned and headed for the door, but just before she reached it, she moved back towards Hermione, "Do not fool yourself into thinking he's in love with you. A man like Lucius ... he doesn't know what love is."

Hermione thought she would collapse, but just as her last ounce of strength was about to leave her, he appeared in the doorway behind them.

"Narcissa." Her name on his lips did little to help Hermione's fortitude, but she stood firmly not wanting to appear weak in front of either of them. The scene before her was repellent and fascinating at the same time. She could not bear to see them together in the same room, but was equally curious to witness the dynamics between them.

Narcissa turned to see her ex-husband. "Aah, Lucius. At last. Where on earth have you been?"

"Busy."

"I've been calling you and that pathetic house-elf of yours for ages. You really should dismiss it. It is clearly useless at its job."

"As I was not expecting you, my inability to be here at the time you wished is irrelevant."

Narcissa sighed but continued nonetheless, "Well, come along now, I have a matter regarding ..." she hesitated.

"Regarding what?"

Again, Narcissa sighed, she could clearly not think of a tantalising reason for being there, and had to speak the truth, "It's about Draco's allowance."

Hermione was relieved she had come on such a mundane matter. It was clear she was telling the truth; she looked positively depressed at the triviality of it.

Lucius glanced briefly at Hermione, his face serious, then looked down at his ex-wife. "I have ten minutes. But in future, I kindly ask that you make an appointment before arriving unannounced. May I remind you that you no longer live here. Who let you in?"

"I did." Narcissa replied in a satisfied matter-of-fact way.

Lucius looked away from her, annoyed at his own lack of foresight in not changing the locking charms.

"Come, let us get this over with." He raised his arm to usher Narcissa out of the room. As she passed him, his hand briefly touched her arm to hurry her along. Hermione felt as if she had been stabbed.

They went into a study further along the corridor, and Hermione heard the door close heavily behind them. She could hold herself up no longer and collapsed, sobbing, onto the floor.

The thoughts and feelings which assailed her were unbearable. Would their meeting be truly businesslike? What would they say to each other? Why had he touched her? She recalled the words which had passed between her and Narcissa. No matter how much she had tried to ignore them, and realised how the other woman had deliberately said them to antagonise, there was no denying the pain they had elicited. After the happiness which had consumed her last night and early this morning, she was now plunged straight back into the anxiety and neurosis of before.

She found her imagination running away with her. What was going on in the study? What if she had changed her mind and wanted him back? He used to be so devoted to her. He must have some residual affection for her that could easily be reignited.

Hermione knew she was being foolish, but could not prevent it. Ten minutes. It was too long for her to bear. If their meeting went over by a second, she would die.

Hermione raised herself from the ground and paced the dining room. She forced herself to remain in the room, although she was burning to go and listen at the doorway. Her dignity prevented it and kept her there.

After what seemed an age, although she could tell by the clock it was in fact just under ten minutes, she heard the door open, and Lucius' voice, low and serious, "I trust that will be sufficient."

Hermione was relieved that his tone was as measured and clinical as it had been when they had entered the room. She waited to hear Narcissa. "I suppose it will do. You really should learn to be more generous. These are hard times for Draco. He is having to work very hard to maintain his standard of living." She sounded resentful.

"Good," Lucius replied.

Narcissa sniffed. "If Draco is not happy, I shall get back to you."

"He can see me himself."

"Oh really, Lucius, you know he is in no mood to see you at the moment."

"If he wants something from me, he must come and ask me himself," he reiterated firmly.

"We shall see. I shouldn't think it will happen any time soon."

She heard their footsteps heading to the door.

"I'll disapparate from outside. It is always easier."

"Goodbye, Narcissa."

She paused. "Strange isn't it?"

"What?"

"This formality, in my own home."

"It is no longer your home."

"Charming as ever, Lucius." There was a moment's silence. "Goodbye."

The door closed at last. Hermione remained where she was and waited. She eventually heard his footsteps approaching. He came into the room, his face solemn.

"She has gone."

Hermione merely nodded, trying not to look too traumatised by the whole experience. "She shouldn't have come here unannounced. I'm sorry. I won't let it happen again. But there will be other times when I need to see her."

Hermione nodded again, then blurted out the one thing that was driving her mad.

"You touched her."

He looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"You touched her arm."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"And?"

"Why did you do that? You didn't have to? She means nothing to you anymore."

He looked at her curiously, a slight frown on his face.

"I have no recollection of touching her. If I did, it was merely a meaningless instinctive reaction to the circumstances. Remember, this is a woman with whom I spent nearly half my life, the mother of my son. She is someone whose company I am very used to."

Hermione nearly sobbed out loud. She knew she was behaving ridiculously, but the pain was too great.

"I don't want you to be 'used to her'."

Now he looked annoyed. "Come, my dear, you really are being very childish. You must approach this in a more mature, rational way." His voice had a dismissive, patronising edge to it, almost as if she was being reprimanded at school, and suddenly the age difference seemed vast.

But still Hermione could not let it drop. The torment inside brought on by Narcissa's words was too great.

"Did you cheat on her?"

"What?" He sounded shocked.

"She implied you cheated on her."

"_Implied?" _His words were spoken coldly now.

"Yes, she said ... _hinted_ ... that you weren't getting what you wanted at home and so you ..." her voice trailed off, tears coursing down her cheeks.

He raised himself up, his face tense, but he managed to keep his anger reeled in. "You are not in a position to comment on my marriage."

"I need to know."

"No, you don't."

"I do, Lucius." He raised his eyes and started to turn away from her. Her next words were yelled sobbing after him. "Because I need to know if you will do the same to me!"

Lucius stopped and turned back to her, his face twisted in discomfort at the brutal emotions Hermione was now exhibiting and the nature of her words. He should tell her to be quiet, grow up, walk away and leave her until she had come to her senses.

He stood, his body rigid. Hermione remained before him, her body heaving with sobs.

Then he found himself crossing to her and taking her sodden face in his hands, forcing her head up to meet his eyes. "Look at me, Hermione ... _look at me_. Don't you realise what she was doing? She was trying to hurt you, sow the seeds of doubt, undermine you. What else has she got left?"

Hermione dropped her head again. Once more, he pulled it back up to look at him.

"I was never unfaithful to my wife ... never ... until I met you again, and even then, it was only when divorce proceedings had already been started."

She could only believe him. Her breathing steadied somewhat.

"Then why ... why did she think you were unfaithful? She said that she couldn't give you enough anymore."

He looked bemused. "Hermione, I'm not going into details about the breakup of my marriage with you. It is too painful for us all. Remember, I was being influenced by something, someone, beyond the trivialities of domestic life at that point. It consumed me, it was all that mattered, more than my marriage, my family, more than anything. Narcissa was only too happy to go along with that at the time ... perhaps if she had been able to see more clearly, to open my eyes to things ..."

Hermione lay her head on him, she knew she had to banish these demons forever. Narcissa's existence could not be denied. But she had to ask, or she would go mad.

"She said you don't know what love is." A look of anguish briefly passed over his face. Hermione did not see. Eventually she spoke. "Did you love her?"

He was silent although he kept her close to him. Then he spoke simply and openly, "Yes."

Hermione closed her eyes as more tears fell. Intermingled with the pained jealousy was a strange relief that he had been able to feel love, that he was indeed capable of it. She spoke again, this answer more dreaded that the last. "Do you still love her?"

He sighed deeply, not speaking for an age. Hermione thought her heart would collapse, but then his words came, slow and thoughtful. "For a long while, there was a lingering respect, a connection of sorts, even after the separation. When so much has passed between two people, it is impossible to fully sever those links, you must realise that. But love?" He sighed once again. Hermione still needed to hear a proper answer. He brought her head up to look at him."When I first saw you before me at the opera, and then even more that time in your office ... I realised completely then ... No, Hermione ... I do not still love her."

A gasping sob pulled itself out of Hermione and she sobbed endlessly into his robes again. He held her close, stroking her.

"Come, you need some breakfast." He led her instinctively into the kitchen, away from the dining room which still contained the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.

She ate a little in silence. He studied her carefully and tried at times to make conversation, but she was unable to enter into a dialogue of any worth.

After breakfast she dressed for work and came down to leave. She went up to him, smiling weakly, and bidding him goodbye. She was ashamed at her own immaturity, but also still disturbed by all that had happened that morning.

She moved to leave, but he caught her and pulled her back to him. "Hermione. It's alright. She's a bitter woman. She's jealous. What more do you expect?"

Hermione could not look at him. "I have to go." She walked to the fireplace in the sitting room and took some powder, disappearing by floo to the Ministry swiftly and quietly.

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**It's never easy ...**

**I should be able to update tomorrow, but it won't be until very late UK time.**

**Until then ... xxx**


	42. Forty Two: Need

**Quite an intense chapter this one - but maybe that's just what a girl needs when feeling distressed! **

**Thanks as ever for the lovely reviews and comments. Luv ya! xxx**

**Better say it again, as I haven't for a while - I own nobody! *weeps inconsolably* However, I was a stone's throw away from JKR on Thursday, although didn't realise it. If I had, I would have gone up and sold my soul for Lucius ... **

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Forty Two - Need

Hermione was relieved to have work to focus on. She frequently replayed the moments from earlier, and her overactive mind told her she had behaved ignorantly and immaturely. Narcissa would naturally try to undermine and wound her; it should not have come as a shock. And she and Lucius had married before Hermione was even born – why should she deny them love at that time or later in their marriage? There was nothing in Lucius' words or behaviour to indicate that what he had told her that morning was not true and able to be dealt with. Still, the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach would not go away.

She rubbed her head anxiously. How had Lucius viewed her behaviour? In addition to her anxiety over her own feelings, she worried about how he had reacted to seeing her so vulnerable and insecure, so ... young. When she had allowed herself a moment of concern over the age difference, it had always been how it would affect _her_, how the fact that _he_ was older than _her _could pose problems. In her own arrogant self-confidence, she had never stopped to think that _her_ youth may trouble _him_. She had never felt particularly young when with him. She did now.

She sighed deeply and thought about their parting of earlier. He had been tender, appeasing, but she had been so emotionally raw and vulnerable that she had practically rebuffed him. She had left abruptly, without resolving things, and her actions now highlighted her puerile petulance yet further. She longed to get back and see him, apologise for her behaviour, hold him, kiss him.

God, she needed him, wanted him, now more than ever, needed him to affirm his desire for her, to imprint him on her. Her head fell into her hands and she breathed in stiltingly with anxiety and yearning.

A noise in her office forced her to come to. The door had opened and she looked up in shock.

Lucius was standing in the room before her, pushing the door shut behind him. She could not believe it. Her head swam and she could barely speak, but heard the words breathed out to him.

"What are you doing here?"

He stood slightly awkwardly, and his eyebrows twitched as if he was unsure what to say.

"I was worried about you. You left most hastily earlier and I was concerned that you ..."

Before he could finish another word, she had rushed over from her chair and clasped him to her, reaching her hands up to encircle his head and pull him down into a desperate kiss; a kiss which she needed to banish the torment which had beset her. She parted his lips urgently with hers, increasing the pressure with her teeth and thrust her tongue in desperately, trying to capture his own, draw it into her.

She lowered her hands pulling, tearing, ripping at his robes and clothes frantically, cries and moans escaping from her in her frenzied need to possess him. "Please ...please ...Lucius ..." He helped her, her desperation suddenly mirrored in him. He held her shirt in both hands and tore it brutally in two, then ripped it further down and off her shoulders. He pulled her bra straps down, scratching her tender flesh in the process, causing her to cry out with agonised longing. He had no patience to remove the bra fully, but pulled it down enough to expose her breasts which heaved before him, urging him to plunder them.

As she continued to remove his own clothes, finally exposing his torso, he lowered his head and roughly took a nipple into his searching mouth. There was nothing gentle about his desire. Hermione wanted it no other way. She urged him on. "Yes ... you know it ... _you know what I want_ ... bite ... _bite me_ ..."

He grabbed the heaving mound in his hand, digging his fingers painfully into the tender flesh, then pulling the nipple deep into his hot wetness, swirling it with his tongue, teasing it up, up to a point of ecstasy. He moaned into her, "Say it again ... _again_."

She groaned with frustration and longing, "You know ... _fuck_ ... you know ... harder ... _harder _... bite me _... bite me_ ..."

With that he complied. His teeth closed, sudden and hard, onto her rock hard nipple, causing a red flash behind her eyelids and a bolt of electricity to shoot to her core. Hermione screamed with the pain, but it morphed instantly into the deepest pleasure and longing. "Yes ... oh god ... _yes_ ... more ... _more_ ..."

She was nearly delirious with lust. Her knickers were soaking and she managed to wriggle out of them as he turned his attention to her other breast. She brought her hand up to his head, perpetual groans pulled from her. His hands dug even harder into her now, his nails drawing blood, his fingers pinching the nipple to an agonised point ready for his mouth to assault. He did so mercilessly, so desperate was their mutual need to occupy each other's bodies, while his hand quested down and suddenly he thrust two, three fingers up inside her sodden passage. She inhaled sharply as his fingers flamed her from within.

At her breast, he sucked her into him so hard, she felt almost as if her nipple had detached, a constant stream of rapture flowed from her breast to her clenching core. Once again, when she thought she would pass out from the agonised ecstasy, he bit down yet harder than before. Another scream from her, but she held his head there, and he continued to hold the nipple hard between his teeth until her fingers then clenched on him and pulled his head up forcibly to her.

She gazed blearily at him, fumbling between his legs, drawing her thigh up round him. "Into me ... _now _... _fuck me_ ... now ... _harder than ever_ ..."

He groaned desperately at her words, and kicking off his trousers and boxers, tearing his hand out of her snatch, he grasped her backside, pushed her roughly against the door, and thrust. The force of it propelled her up the door and her head was knocked back to bang loudly against it. She brought her other leg off the ground and felt herself sink fully down onto him. He was supporting her almost entirely on him, and the shock of it forced them to lock eyes. Her mouth fell open in wonder. She could feel him pressing up on her cervix; the discomforting fullness was exquisite and she gasped in awe. For him, the feeling of his head pressing against her, nearly her whole weight impaled on him, was sensational, and he did not want to move again, but the need for friction got the better of them both and he pulled her off the door, thrusting his mouth into her again, his tongue questing as deep as his cock was buried in her.

He moved her round the room, he knew not where. He was walking blind with her impaled on him, her legs seared around his hips, their mouths fused. She hit something, her head falling back with a dull thud, another wall. She used it to relieve the weight pressing down on him momentarily and he moved urgently within her, groaning into her throat with each thrust.

Then again she drew her legs up and he pulled her off the wall, moving back, around, anywhere. Her backside hit something. She vaguely realised it was her desk and she took the opportunity to relinquish her hold on him, and fall back across it. Her arms splayed out to the sides and her head fell back off the far end, her entire body alight, writhing before him. But still she was joined fully to him. She gasped in rapture, moving her hands haphazardly along the oak, sending papers, quills, parchments tumbling to the floor. She didn't care or even notice. All she was aware of was his glorious, iron-hard cock filling her, dictating her every move.

He moved powerfully, grasping her hips to prevent her from moving away from him up the table. She brought one of her hands down and gripped the edge of the table for added leverage, her knuckles white, the other came up and pulled brutally on her already agonised nipple yet again. She opened her mouth, and words, strangely disembodied, came out.

"Harder ... _as hard as you can_ ... fuck everyone else away ... there's no-one else ... _fuck them out of you_ ... come into me ... _into me_ ... hard ..._harder_..."

Her words brought him so close he thought he would explode, but he wanted to give her the reassurance she needed and so held back, a supreme act of concentration. He grasped her hips and plunged brutally into her, time and time again, a guttural grunt accompanying each push, her back scraping harshly on the desk as he thrust. A cry escaped her with each pounding.

His words now came, rasping and breathy, "Yes ..._yes_ ..._it's only you_ ...I'll fuck you so hard I'll only fit you ...gods ... _Hermione_ ... don't ever doubt ... only you ... _only you_ ..." His last words warped into a deep wrenching cry as he spasmed into her, his head falling uselessly back and his seed pulsing up into her, hot and desperate.

The sound of his rapture at last allowed her to come. She pinched hard on her nipple and, as she felt his cock thrusting its essence into her, she screamed her agonised pleasure loudly into the room, her body tensing before convulsing hopelessly, more objects falling onto the floor as she flailed uncontrollably on the desk, impaled on him above her.

They remained like that, the occasional blissful spasm still moving them, for an age afterwards, neither speaking, the air heavy with aromatic pleasure and utter fulfilment.

At length, he reached over, still breathing heavily, and pulled her up to him, ensuring he remained as deep inside her as before. He was still out of breath, but held her, gazing into her eyes and stroking her damp hair away as it clung to her glowing face.

"You are amazing," he said softly between pants. "You are the most extraordinary, exquisite thing, who gives herself so completely. I have never known anything like it. I never knew pleasure of this magnitude was possible."

He had said exactly what she needed to hear. Since earlier, since the start of their relationship in fact, she had needed to know that she was better than ... that she was the best.

Hermione could not prevent tears coming once again to her eyes. She tried her best to blink them away, then returned the compliment honestly. "You don't think I was like this before do you? It's you ... of course it's you ... us ... together ... we create beyond what we are as two individuals. That's what a great relationship is ... it is more than the sum of its parts."

He leant into her and kissed her again, then moved his head down, questing to her throat. Her eyes opened in bleary lust, immediately he was hardening inside her again and her core ached already. Her gaze scanned the room hazily, taking in the walls, the posters, the door ... the door! She jolted up, panic threatening to engulf her. "Lucius! We forgot to silence the room!"

He looked at her, his usual impassive countenance encompassing his features, and she thought at first he would not react, but then he drawled in such a deliciously straight way that she almost laughed, "Shit."

She could feel him iron and urgent inside her again and he moved slightly, stoking her lust. She tried hard to focus on the problem which had just revealed itself but found she had no willpower to do so. She moaned and scraped her hands down his back, harder than she needed, but knowing how much he loved it. It brought a deeply erotic groan from him which caused her to rock back and forth on his rigid member, buried so deep inside her. "That's a problem, don't you think. I mean, everyone will have heard when I screamed and ... _FUCK!"_ Her voice resonated loudly through the room again as his hand came down to strum the electric bud of nerves between her thighs.

He continued his delicious coaxing, all the while stroking in and out, rhythmically, building, building their pleasure. She clenched her walls tightly around him and he moaned loud and long into the room.

"Sshhhh!" she hissed, forcing her fist into her mouth to stifle her ecstasy.

He grabbed her ankles and swiftly raised her legs up to rest on each of his shoulders, with a hard thrust he plunged in deeper than before, immediately bringing his hand back to her clit and rubbing. Hermione's fist fell from her mouth as her words came gushing out, "Ohh ... so deep ... _you're so deep_ ... so good ... _don't stop!"_

He continued his assault on her senses, then spoke silkily, louder than necessary. "What was that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was delirious. "Don't stop! _DON'T EVER FUCKING STOP!"_

"I don't intend to."

He raised himself with renewed intent and plunged over and over into her, groaning loud and deep each time. Hermione's moans of pleasure were loud and unceasing and as he twisted her clit one last time and plunged in as far as was possible she froze, her muscles ready. Her eyes locked with his and her mouth opened, silently at first. Then she fell cataclysmically and her pleasure poured out for all to hear, _"OH GOD! UNBELIEVABLE! LUCIUS! YOU'RE UNBELIEVABLE!"_ As she spasmed desperately around him he shot his seed up into her, his own pleasure gripping his body from head to toe. He let out the deepest and profoundest cry of rapture, her name carried out into the room, "Hermione! _FUCK!_ ..." His words morphed into a groan of unending fulfilment.

For the second time in only a few minutes, they found themselves slowly coming down from unspeakable pleasure. Hermione darted a look at him, "Oops."

He raised his eyebrows.

She looked suitably ashamed. "That was a bit naughty wasn't it?"

"Naughty, but ..." He didn't provide the obvious ending, merely smirked.

She smiled at him and leant over to kiss him. Then grim reality set in. "Shit. I could get in serious trouble."

She quickly pulled herself up, examining herself rapidly. Her shirt was in shreds on the floor, alongside her pants. Her stockings were torn and hanging down. She had deep red teeth and scratch marks on her breasts, and further scratches along her shoulders. Lucius eyed her as she did her best to tidy herself up. "I hurt you."

She glanced at him. "You know I don't mind. I need it."

"You will be sore now."

"It will remind me of you."

He smiled at her. She had managed to repair her clothes and tidy herself up sufficiently, and smoothing herself down one more time, looked across at him, "Right, time to face the music." With that she strode over and boldly flung the door back. Priscilla looked up immediately, her eyes searching out Hermione's face before glancing swiftly behind her into the office at Lucius, then quickly back to the parchment in front of her.

"Everything alright, Priscilla?" She tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

She didn't look up. "Yes, thank you, Miss Granger." She continued scribbling at the parchment. "Everything alright with you?"

Hermione looked down at her. She thought she knew Priscilla well enough to draw her into her little world. "Oh yes, Priscilla. I am very much 'alright'."

Her secretary looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow. "I gathered as much." The two women smiled briefly at each other.

Hermione leaned over to her. "Priscilla." The other witch held her gaze, the accepting look still on her face. "Has the department been ... busy ... this afternoon?"

Priscilla glanced around. "Not particularly. Mr Snipworth is still away. One or two people passed through."

"And did they ... linger ... you know ... did anything ... catch their attention ...?"

"They looked mildly curious, but they were minor employees and I think if anything did ... catch their attention ... they would know better than to dwell on it for too long."

"Right ..." Hermione was somewhat relieved. Lucius appeared near her. Priscilla smiled up at him.

"Mr Malfoy," she started formally, "I trust you are enjoying your visit to the Ministry this afternoon? I hope Miss Granger has provided you with everything you need."

Lucius looked down at her with amused curiosity before replying without skipping a beat, "Oh, Miss Granger has been most accommodating, as always."

Priscilla smiled up at them both before declaring that she was finishing for the day. Hermione glanced at the clock, she hadn't realised it was so late.

"Goodness. I can go. It's after five o'clock."

As Priscilla gathered her things, she reminded Hermione, "Don't forget Mr Snipworth is back tomorrow. I believe he has a sharper sense of hearing than the rest of us." She smirked a warning to them, then left.

Hermione and Lucius returned to the office and Hermione sank into her chair, a long sigh exhaled with relief. "Well, we seem to have got away with that reasonably lightly."

Lucius merely smiled across at her.

"You couldn't care less, could you?" she sighed.

"Not really. And neither could you a moment ago."

"Hmm ... you're right ... but we were still very foolish. Ormus made it very clear when he first suspected us that I should behave with complete professionalism at all times when in the Ministry. You know what I'm like. God, I should be more careful, I don't know what came over me."

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. She glared at him. "Don't. If we'd been caught by anyone important ..."

"My dear, our relationship is public knowledge, we were safely in your office late in the afternoon. You are highly respected and I ..."

"You?"

"I can get away with murder." His arrogant drawl staggered her and she looked at him, her mouth hanging open at his audacity. In the past a statement such as that from him would have had her reaching for her wand, but now what shocked her even more was her lack of response. She could only manage a teasing glare.

"Watch it, Malfoy."

He chuckled slightly and came over to her. "Come along, let's go home." He waved his wand over the room, and the parchments and quills which had been scattered earlier returned to their original position.

She sighed and stood up. "I won't let that happen again. It was foolish."

He stepped into her and looked down ominously. "Have you forgotten our recent conversations?"

His serious tone unnerved her. She glanced up. "I thought you admired my sense of responsibility too?"

"Within reason."

"It's different here. I'm at work."

He raised his eyebrows wearily. She exhaled deeply. "I know ... I'm sorry ... but I really like my job ... I don't want to jeopardise it."

"You haven't. So you can relax. Come." He held his hand out to her. She smiled up at him. Their time in the office had been amazing and no serious harm had come from not charming the room. She shouldn't let it trouble her. She took his hand and allowed him to pull her towards the door.

"We'll take the floo. You didn't seem to enjoy apparating much last time."

She squeezed his hand and he glanced back at her, then stopped at moved into her. "Thank you for this afternoon. Like I said, you are amazing." He moved away, then turned to look back at her again, smirking, "And responsible."

She smiled to herself, then pulled on his hand softly. "It is I who needs to thank you."

He raised his eyebrows in query. She continued softly.

"Thank you. For coming here today. I ... I needed you."

He leant down and planted a gentle kiss on her cheek, then they left for the atrium and its numerous fireplaces.

A short time later they arrived in the fireplace of the sitting room of Malfoy Manor. Hermione immediately went and stretched out on the sofa, kicking her shoes off on her way.

"Friday tomorrow! At last!"

He slumped down next to her, a glass of whisky in his hand, one of idlelight for her. She took it gratefully before continuing.

"Can you believe it wasn't even a week ago since the park? God, so much has happened since then ... It seems like an age."

They were both quiet, thinking about the hearing, Draco, Ron, Narcissa ...

"No wonder I'm exhausted," Hermione yawned.

"I can think of other reasons you might be a tad worn out." He took a sip from his glass. Her bare feet were resting on his lap, and he ran the tip of one finger lightly up the sole of one, causing her to wriggle and giggle.

"I was talking about mental exhaustion too!" She laughed, rubbing her foot on his leg. "Don't you ever get exhausted? You never complain of it."

"Of course. But I have been conditioned into not showing weakness."

She reached up to brush a stray hair away from his face. "You can show me any weakness you want."

He turned to look at her, gazing intently for a long while before reaching down and lightly kissing her. Then he leaned in yet further and whispered, so close and delicate he was almost thinking his words into her, "I would do that ... but you see ... when I am with you ... you give me more strength than I ever thought possible."

* * *

**This man is too too yum.**

**Let me know what you think! If you want! No pressure! Well, maybe just an ickle bit ...**

**xxx**


	43. Forty Three: Invitation

**So, Hermione and Lucius settle into everyday life ... hmm ... there still seems to be quite a lot to resolve, however ...**

**Well, I've finally run out of pre-written chapters! This is the last complete one so far. But, fear not! I intend to write quite a lot tonight, so fingers crossed that updates will continue reasonably regularly. Having said that, I think the end is in sight! I wouldn't want this story to outstay its welcome! It is a love story; I do not intend it to drag on in endless circles with contrived plot twists forever.**

**Thanks for the lovely reviews. You are all so kind. x**

* * *

Forty Three - Invitation

Lucius and Hermione slept peacefully, but for the first time in a week, their night was punctuated by them turning to each other subconsciously, searching out their bodies, touching, tasting, joining, crying out, witnessed only by the darkness of the night. When they awoke in the morning, they would have no memory of the intimacy, merely a deep, heavy satisfaction which followed them through the day.

It was hard for Hermione to tear herself away to go to work, but she found it slightly easier due to it being Friday, and Lucius had risen early to go, as he had a meeting at St. Mungo's Hospital. There was a chance that they would reinstate his patronage of them. Hermione hoped sincerely this would happen. She knew it would signify a huge step towards his reacceptance into wizarding society.

They ate breakfast together in the dining room, Hermione thankfully having managed to move on from the incident with Narcissa there the day before. She knew that if she was ever to lead a proper life with Lucius, she must not allow childish insecurities to invade her innate common sense. Still, she had secretly performed a fumigating spell to clear the room of any lingering odour of the woman and her cigarette.

While they were eating, Lucius chatting animatedly, Hermione noted happily, about his meeting at the hospital later, Tibby came in with _The Daily Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_. It was the first time Hermione had seen a copy of the latter since the hearing; she had resisted buying it all week. She had a strange relationship with the publication. She had initially had little time for it, but as she had got to know Luna and her family more, she had been more open-minded about its articles. She was certainly itching to know now what was being said about herself and Lucius. She tried not to appear too impatient as she took it swiftly from the tray Tibby had set down. She asked Lucius as casually as she could, "Do you always get this?"

He glanced up briefly from _The Daily Prophet_ which he had taken to read. "My wife used to read it at the weekend, Merlin alone knows why. I keep meaning to cancel the subscription. I'll send an owl today."

Hermione didn't answer. She would quite like to keep getting it. She'd recently developed a soft spot for gossip. She knew that in this edition, however, all the gossip would be about her. Her eyes fell on the headline.

'_New Mistress at Malfoy Manor!' _Could they think of nothing better than that? She read on aloud.

"The wizarding world was reeling yesterday at the shock revelation that swotty brainbox Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, had abandoned her long-time boyfriend, flame-haired Quidditch legend, Ronald Weasley, another third of the Golden Trio, for none other than ex-Death Eater Lucius Malfoy. The extraordinary revelation was made by Mr Malfoy himself during his trial for using the Cruciatus curse on a muggle. He proclaimed their relationship to the entire Wizengamot while Miss Granger looked on in shock and wonder at her flaxen-haired lover standing before her.

Reaction to the news has been extraordinary. Witches and wizards are justifiably shocked and largely appalled by the revelation. Not only is there an age- difference of twenty five years between them, but Miss Granger frequently found herself on the wrong end of both Mr Malfoy's and his son Draco's wands in the time before the defeat of the Dark Lord. What has staggered people yet further is that Mr Malfoy is, or certainly was, a firm believer in pure-blood doctrine, and yet now finds himself in a romantic relationship with the most famous Muggle-born witch of our time, one that was formerly his arch-enemy."

"God, if they put it like that, it makes _me_ wonder ..." she commented, glancing up at him. He merely smirked, but did not take his eyes off _The Daily Prophet_.

"They've hardly mentioned the hearing." She breathed out heavily and continued reading quietly. There were interviews with various distant acquaintances, all expressing their horror and outrage, and endless speculation about how and when they had got together. Draco was mentioned frequently, one person even suggesting that he had acted somehow as a 'go-between'. Hermione laughed out loud as she saw this.

She turned a page, there was yet more. "Oh, dear god ..." It was always strange to read about yourself in the third person, although it was something that Hermione had become accustomed to in her short life. Still, it made her feel strangely detached from her true self, as if she was reading about someone else whom she could pass judgement on, like everyone else. It was intensely disconcerting.

Her eyes lit on a particularly vivid article, penned of course by Rita Skeeter. She read with amusement, before commenting as flatly as she could, "Apparently I'm pregnant."

She sensed a slight tensing from the man adjacent to her, but he drawled as laconically as ever. "I see. And are you?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

He did not respond further, but Hermione allowed herself a moment to wonder what was going through his head, and her own for that matter. She had always been very careful as far as contraception was concerned, but accidents did happen, especially with the frequency with which they made love. How would he react if ... She drew in a deep breath and decided instead to reassure him and remind herself of the needs of a modern working girl.

"It would be pretty impossible if I was. Not only do I frequently readminister a contraceptive spell, I also use good old fashioned Muggle precautions as well, so I'm doubly safe."

She glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

"I assumed as much," he commented smoothly.

His male complacency suddenly gnarled her and she put down the paper with an annoyed rustle.

"You assumed, did you? Do you think that was wise? Just let the woman do all the worrying?"

He finally lowered the paper and eyed her blankly. "I saw no reason to question your sense and foresight. Surely it would have been insulting to ask?"

She tutted. "It's hardly a risk worth taking though, is it?"

He sighed at her sudden emotional outburst. "My dear, you never felt the need to mention it until now either. Why are you suddenly so agitated?"

"Accidents do happen, Lucius. What if ... what if I did find myself ... pregnant?"

He did not reply for the longest time, and returned to his paper. His words at last came calmly from behind it. "We will cross that bridge if and when we come to it."

She sighed deeply. It was useless and silly to continue this conversation now. He was clearly in no mood to discuss it further, and she saw no real need to do so, besides her own immature emotional niggles. Again, she had reacted petulantly and impulsively, something which was put into sharp relief by his dispassionate approach.

She stood up. "I'm sorry. Being silly again." She crossed to him and leant down to kiss the top of his head. "I'm going to get ready for work." He reached over to take her hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the palm gently and smiling up at her.

"You've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?" she queried.

He returned his attention immediately to the newspaper, before speaking as smooth as silk, "You don't need to apologise to me for anything."

She smiled to herself then went upstairs to gather her work things.

When she came back downstairs he was also ready to go. She gave him a long kiss goodbye. Leaving was always so painful. Thank god it was the weekend. She travelled by floo again, landing in the atrium of the Ministry along with hundreds of other workers. She noticed lots of glances in her direction. After reading the reports in _The Quibbler_, she could understand why.

As Hermione settled to work, she decided firmly on an idea which had been forming since the day before. Her childish reactions to encounters and incidents over the last few days fired her resolve, and she was determined to confront one of her concerns head on.

At the start of her lunch break, she headed out of the Ministry and apparated to Diagon Alley, where she walked quickly and purposefully to find herself outside the imposing white facade of Gringott's Bank.

Hermione looked up at the building and breathed deeply, then opened the heavy brass doors and went in. On going through the second set of doors she found herself in the marble lobby. She went up to the main desk, her footsteps echoing around the hall. Her nerve started to falter, but she continued. She approached the goblin in front of her.

"Excuse me, I'd like to see Mr Draco Malfoy, please, would that be possible?"

The goblin eyed her suspiciously. "What is the purpose of your visit?"

"It is on a personal matter. I only need five minutes. It is quite important. I have no other way of contacting him."

The goblin looked down at his work again, speaking dismissively, "You could have owled like the rest of us tend to do."

"I need to see Mr Malfoy personally. I can arrange a time to suit him, if necessary, but I would like to meet with him soon."

The goblin glared up at her, as if she was interrupting him from a far more important task, not asking him something as part of his job.

"Second floor, room 256. Five minutes mind. No more."

Hermione was taken aback at his sudden acceptance. She had forgotten how obtuse goblins could be just for the sake of it.

"Thank you," she said politely before heading off to the stairs.

She reached the room. His name was on the door. She could see no other humans working in the near vicinity. It must be a lonely job, she thought.

Hermione suddenly felt nervous, but was determined to go ahead with her plan. But what if he reacted as badly as he had before? Surely here, at work, he would be less aggressive, less likely to fly off the handle. That is what she hoped anyway. She raised her hand and knocked firmly.

"Come," that voice, so hated for so long, spoke brusquely from within.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione turned the handle and walked in.

Draco was sitting at his desk in a small, cramped, darkly panelled room with one small window letting in a meagre amount of thin light. The atmosphere was oppressive and gloomy. He did not look up initially, but when at length he did, his face registered shock, then utter disdain, before returning to the papers before him.

She did not speak, and, still not looking up, Draco said coldly and flatly, "What are you doing here?"

"I'd like to ask you something."

"Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

Hermione was not put off. "Would you like to come to dinner sometime next week?"

Draco did not respond at first, then eventually looked up at her sharply.

"Did my father send you?"

"No. He doesn't even know I'm here."

Draco sniffed scornfully then eventually sneered, "I thought I made my feelings abundantly clear the last time I saw you. I can think of nothing worse than spending an evening with my father leering over his little mudblood tart in my own home."

"I think you know it won't be like that," Hermione surprised herself with her own coolness. "I can understand why you were so upset last time. I can cope with it."

"The thought of you being able to 'cope' with it or not is not something that occupies much of my time. Get lost, Granger." Draco returned to his work, ignoring her.

Hermione was not deterred. She continued. "Draco, you can't go on like this. Haven't you for one instant thought that, if your father, of all people, can accept me, then perhaps you should too?" She sighed, reevaluating. "You know, I don't even mean it like that. I don't expect you to accept me, but I don't want this to harm your relationship with your father. You love each other too much for that. We've all grown up now, Draco. Just come and have something to eat with us. I'll be so discreet you'll hardly notice me. Believe me, an evening spent with you is hardly an easy matter for me either. But we're not at school anymore. So much has happened ... so much." Her voice dropped towards the end, as she remembered what they had both been through four years ago, and the emptiness which now inhabited Draco's eyes.

There was silence between them for the longest time, but Hermione sensed a slight relaxing in Draco. He spoke, his voice less hard-edged than before.

"I don't understand how you can bear to be in the house. When you were last there ..."

"Yes," she interrupted quickly. "I'm not sure I understand it myself, to be honest. But your father's presence ... diffuses the ... pain."

Draco looked at her, his expression a mixture of revulsion and curiosity.

"I've known you for so long, Granger, must be nearly twelve years now. I don't think we've spoken more than two civil words to each other in all that time, and now you're asking me to come and have dinner with you and my father ... your lover?"

"It doesn't have to be like it was in the past, Draco. I know how hard this is for you. I understand. But equally, you have to see what is happening in your father's life right now. He's happy, Draco. I know he is, and if you can come round to seeing that, he will be even ... oh, it'll just be amazing. He was so upset the other day, after you left. I don't know what was said between you, but it seems that things have definitely not been resolved. I don't want this to drag on – who does? Come over and just talk. God, I'll go and leave you two alone if you'd prefer."

Draco gave a deep sigh, and although his expression retained the sneer which his features seemed to have permanently fixed themselves into by third year of school, Hermione detected a dispersal of the brutal antagonism between them.

He spoke, his words cold but understandable.

"Granger, that house ... my family's house ... I associate completely with childhood, and my father and mother ... together. I know you have a strong opinion of me, one which if I'm being honest, I can hardly blame you for, but, you know, believe it or not, I had a happy childhood. I loved ... love ... my parents. And suddenly, I've got Hermione Granger ... _Hermione Granger_, the person whom I hated above all others at school, the person who my father himself inspired me to despise, walking round that house in my mother's place. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

When said like that, Hermione could feel nothing but the deepest shame. She did not respond. He continued.

"And, you know, Granger – I would have tried. Yeah, we've all grown up, we're not at school anymore, and even I can't forget what happened four years ago, and what we did for each other after ... And I saw you, you remember – in Flourish and Blotts – I could have done without it, but I thought, _Come on, Malfoy, move on, grow up_ ... You were polite, courteous, and I thought, _Well, why not? Just say hello, then hopefully you'll never have to see her again for another four years_. I tried to be civil ... Do you remember that meeting, it was a couple of months ago or so?" He asked almost casually.

Hermione could not look at him, but mumbled, "Uhh, yes ... yes, I remember seeing you."

Draco's face suddenly froze. He fixed her with a look of surprised horror. "My father was there too. Didn't he speak to you? Yeah ... he did ... he was really weird after you'd gone ... detached ..." A dawning realisation had taken hold of Draco. He looked aghast. "Was that ... is that when it started?"

Hermione could only concur shamefully, "Maybe ... sort of ... I'm not sure really ..."

Drace merely shook his head, "You ... Granger ... why did it have to be _you_?"

Hermione finally lifted her head and met his eyes. She realised that nothing he had said changed the situation she found herself in, nor why she was here now. She spoke, a new strength in her tone. "Draco, the truth remains that it _is_ me, and it _is_ your father. Surely the fact that it is so unlikely, so extraordinary, should tell you that something has occurred between us which is worthwhile and wonderful. I had no idea your father was so amazing, had so much to give, I don't think he did, and I can say the same for myself. My life was ... being wasted ... I don't think I ever would have seen that if it hadn't been for Lucius. I know there's a huge age difference, and in the Muggle world, it would make me think twice, but you know as well as I, that to wizards, especially great ones like your father who have aged very slowly, it really is hardly an issue."

"_The Quibbler_ seems to think it is."

"Oh god! Don't tell me you've been reading that as well! You know how ... inventive ... they can be. If you read that then you'll also know that you were actually your father's and my matchmaker!"

Draco said nothing, but Hermione was sure she could detect a slight smile tug the corners of his mouth.

There was a further silence, but the atmosphere in the room had relaxed and Hermione tried again, "Come on, Draco. Just come and see. If it is too much, you can just leave again. Please ... not for me, for your father."

Draco tapped his quill distractedly on the table, then eventually said, "I'll think about it."

Hermione nearly sighed audibly in relief. She took his words as an implicit agreement, and continued, "How about Tuesday? About 8 o'clock?" She turned to go, then looked back at him. "You may not want to, but you could bring someone if you felt like it."

"I won't bring anyone."

"No, thought I should mention it, though." She turned away again and heard his voice behind her.

"There isn't anyone to bring."

"Oh ... I'm sorry."

"There was until last week ... but ... it didn't work out ..."

"There'll be someone else ..."

He finally looked up at her with a glower. "You always were a patronising cow, Granger."

Hermione managed a weak smile. She had deserved that.

"You're the second person to say that in the last few days," she said regretfully.

"About time you believed it then, isn't it?"

She smiled then turned to leave, "Until Tuesday, then ..."

"I haven't said yes yet."

"No, but ..."

"Goodbye, Granger," Draco glared at her as she left.

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**Hmm ... will he arrive? ... how will Lucius react?**

**Let me know your thoughts. x**


	44. Forty Four: Lyrics

**Phew! Managed to get another chapter out. This one contains lots of, err ... interaction ... between L and H! Hormones evidently raging again! Still, some tender, significant moments too I hope.**

**Thanks as ever for the reviews! xxx**

**Enjoy! x**

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Forty Four - Lyrics

Hermione finished the day in a ridiculously good mood. The fact that Draco had not refused her offer point blank made her believe that he would turn up on Tuesday.

They had spoken genuinely and significantly to each other. She could not deny how he must be feeling about her relationship with his father and presence in his family home, and wondered if she was being too hasty in inviting him round so soon, but she reminded herself that she was doing this for Lucius and him. If, indeed, it would be easier for them if she left them alone, then she would do so. But if she could be the catalyst for a renewed relationship between them, then surely she had done the right thing.

At five o'clock she gathered her things for the weekend and disapparated to the manor, her high spirits allowing her to travel with less dizziness than usual.

She opened the door – Lucius had told her the unlocking spells – and walked in, calling happily. He came out of the small sitting room to greet her, and she rushed to him and showered him with kisses. He responded equally fervently, twisting his fingers in her hair and pulling her mouth to him hungrily. He kissed hot open kisses down her throat, mumbling against her flesh as he did so, "I take it you had a good day?"

"Hmm ..." she smiled in confirmation, at that moment only able to focus on his mouth and what it was doing to her.

He had already removed her top and his hands were at her bra clasp. His mouth descended to her breast, planting passionate but soothing kisses on the bruises and marks of yesterday. Her bra fell to the floor and she reached down, fumbling with his belt and buckles. His mouth encircled her nipple and she breathed in deeply, but did not hesitate in what she wanted. Moving his head away from her, she sank to her knees. She had not managed to undo his belt, but so desperate was she to see and taste him, that the moment she had undone enough of his buttons, she released him out to her, his trousers still on, and with a groan of satisfaction and longing at what she had in front of her she plunged her head rapidly down onto him.

He hissed out, long and slow, and forced his hands away from her, to hang at his sides. He would let her dictate this. Her hunger to taste and engulf him was desperate, but she forced herself to pull back, gasping to try to stem her desire enough to concentrate. She glanced up at him and met his eyes, a look of such complete surrender in them, that she grinned deliriously up at him. She would give him all she had.

Her hands came up and finally she focused enough to undo his belt and remaining clasps. His trousers fell to the floor and he stepped out of them, followed by his shoes and socks. He stood before her in shirt tails alone.

She looked at his member, so large and swollen before her, calling to her, and as her eyes locked on it, it twitched expectantly before her. She brought out her tongue and let it lick around her lips, wetting them in preparation. She heard him draw in a deep shuddering breath, but still he kept his hands by his sides.

Her tongue came out and, avoiding the tip, which jerked once again, she lowered it to the very base of the shaft, then ran it slowly up the underside. When she reached the head, she allowed it to run over the top, gently tasting the slit, then over the top and down the shaft again. She opened her mouth more fully and ran her hot lips up one side of the shaft again, then merely breathing over the tip this time, she repeated the process down the other side, coating it all the while in her juices. Then she grasped the shaft firmly near the base and twisted slightly, pulling it the short way to her tongue, which flicked out hopefully towards it.

She let her tongue touch the underside of the head, and felt him jolt against her. She smiled slightly, before repeating the action, this time licking more forcefully. Then again, her tongue agonised him, but this time, she ran it up and over the head, sinking it deeply into the slit as it went. He groaned intensely and a shot of pre-cum oozed out over her taste-buds, the saltiness nectar itself.

She still held him firmly in her hand, and allowing her saliva to run down and coat him again, she started twisting and massaging him, while her mouth once again descended towards the head of his exultant cock.

She took his head fully in her mouth now, breathing, licking, sucking, tasting him. It was such an exquisite experience for her, that a ceaseless string of moans were torn from her, which she was barely aware of. The vibrations these sounds caused only served to increase his pleasure, and he joined her in groaning heavily into the hallway.

She continued her hungry attentions, occasionally relinquishing her grasp on him, and instead plunging her head down fully, taking his full length down her, into her throat, something she did not think possible a few weeks ago. She could finish him like this, but she was enjoying holding him tightly in her palm and eventually resorted to her initial impulse and grabbed him hard around the shaft again, pulling the skin around it, while her tongue and lips worked him deliciously to fulfilment.

He was nearly there, and she pulled in her cheeks around him, her tongue twirling along his slit. One hand continued to hold and twist, while the other suddenly came up and gripped his sac, tenderly but assuredly. "Fuck! _Can't hold on_ ... Merlin, witch! Too good ... _too good_ ..." his words were practically indistinct.

With her one last pull along him, he exploded into her. His head was fully in her mouth and she caught all his release on her tongue. He panted deeply above her, his last spasms sending yet more of his seed into her. She released him from her and gasped in a pleasured laugh, inadvertently allowing him to see himself on her tongue. He pulled in an agonised breath of awe. She opened her eyes and realised what had happened. She had not intended to be so unsubtely pornographic, but on seeing the look on his face, she did not hurry to close her mouth. Only when his breathing finally slowed, ensuring they were still looking deep into each other's eyes, did she close her mouth and swallow him deep into her. This brought one final, guttural groan from him, and her belly twisted with her own desire. She knew she would need to address it soon.

When he had recovered he reached down and pulled her up to him, drawing her in for a long, tender kiss. He could taste himself in her mouth, a curious sensation, but one that with her seemed entirely natural. When they eventually parted, he held her head in his hands. "Thank you seems rather inadequate after that."

She smiled up at him. "I don't want thanks. But you can say it anyway if you want. I like the sound of it coming from you."

He eyed her cynically. "Are you implying I am ungrateful?"

"Not anymore. I just like it when you display humility." She thought for a moment. "I like it when you display arrogance too, it's just rather more unusual when you are deferential."

He continued to look down at her, his face registering little. Hermione waited. Silence. After a while she gave up, smirked a little regretfully at him, then turned away.

He caught her suddenly and sharply and pulled her round into him. She gasped out with the shock of it. He held her head firmly in his hands once more and brought her face up for another searing kiss, his tongue assaulting hers. He pulled back abruptly and fixed his eyes into hers, ensuring she was entirely his. "Thank you," he breathed.

Her legs almost gave way under her with the intensity of his passion, but after a while she managed to respond. "You are welcome ... eternally."

His eyes sparked with the deepest fire, but he merely smiled tenderly down at her.

She could feel her heart warm within her and she returned his smile. Then suddenly remembered and asked him urgently, "Oh god! How did your meeting at St Mungo's go?"

He walked away and sat down on the sofa. Her heart sank. She slowly followed him and sat down, a look of concern on her face.

He turned to her, a smirk on his face. "I'm back."

Hermione opened her mouth in disgust at his teasing of her, but it quickly turned into an enormous grin of delight. She flung her arms around him, kissing him hard on the cheek. "Lucius! That's fantastic! Oh god! What did they say? Was it difficult?"

His eyebrows raised. "Difficult? My dear, 'difficult' is not a word I employ very often."

She hit him playfully on the arm. "You know what I mean."

"They were a miserable lot, I have to say. But they seemed reasonably pleased with my ... progress ... and only too happy to relieve me of copious amounts of my money."

Hermione couldn't stop smiling. She knew how much this meant to him, despite his laconic attitude.

"And did they say anything else? Have they given you any responsibility?"

"Yes," he drawled. "They want me on the Board. My ... relationship ... with you was mentioned. Your immaculate reputation seems to have rubbed off on me. And for that, for the second time in a few minutes ... I thank you." He turned and gave her a mesmerising smile which took her breath away.

She nestled down against him and sighed deeply. "I'm so happy for you ... for us. More and more opportunities will reopen themselves to you now. You could get a permanent job at the Ministry if you wanted."

"Hmm ... I'm not sure I could cope with Shacklebolt and his lackeys just yet."

They sat in contented silence for a while longer. In the euphoria of his good news, Hermione had forgotten hers. She suddenly thought of it, but was not entirely sure how to tell him. A sense of dread swept across her. How would he take the news? Perhaps he would think her presumptuous. Still, she had to tell him. She decided to be straight and clear.

"I went to see Draco today."

She immediately felt him tense. He did not speak.

"I asked him to dinner next week."

Further silence. Hermione swallowed hard. She waited for his reaction. After what seemed an age she got it.

"And what was his reply?" His voice came hard and measured.

"He said he'd think about it." She could not fully gauge his reaction, but the tension suddenly threatened to engulf her.

"What made you take it upon yourself to do this?" His voice remained straight, but his words unnerved her.

"I wanted him to know that if he wanted to move forward he could ... we all could ... together."

He breathed in sharply. "And you think that is what 'we' wanted?"

She did not know what to say. She could feel his chest rising and falling more rapidly against her. After a while he spoke again. "I did not want you to get involved in this."

She sat up and looked at him. "But I need to be involved. I caused all this."

He did not look at her. "Enough people are hurting already. I do not want you to hurt as well." She understood his words, and they reassured her a little, but his voice was still flat and cold.

"We have to confront things at some point. It shouldn't drag on – hang over us." She waited. He said nothing. She spoke again. "Are you angry with me?"

For an age he did not speak. Hermione felt a tightness around her heart. At last he broke the silence.

"I wish you had not asked him so soon." He stared straight ahead. She thought he would get up and leave the room. But then he turned and met her eyes, his remarkably warm. "But I am not angry with you. I understand and admire your actions." She saw a slight smile on his face. "You are a remarkable person."

She drew in a staggering breath in relief, tears coming to her eyes.

They sat a while longer in silence, a warm glow returning to Hermione, as she felt the tension leave his body. She stretched out and sat up. "Is Tibby here?"

"Of course."

"Do you mind if I give her the evening off? I'll cook for you. I'd like to."

He reached up and smoothed a hair off her face. "If you wish."

She smiled and got up, going into the kitchen. He stayed behind, reading a wizarding book Hermione had been meaning to read for ages.

Hermione found Tibby about to prepare the evening meal. She went up to her cheerily. "Tibby. Your master and I are more than happy for you to retire early tonight. I will cook for us this evening."

A look of panic overtook Tibby's face. "Is my master displeased with my work? Are you, Miss Hermione, unhappy with me?"

Hermione had forgotten how neurotic and insecure house-elves could be. She sought to immediately reassure her. "No, Tibby. We are both delighted with all you do. In fact, we're so delighted that we want to reward you. That's why we're giving you the night off. Don't worry. You'll still be paid and I'll leave everything as I find it. Please believe me. Everything you do here is so appreciated."

Tibby stood awkwardly for a moment, and Hermione was not sure if she would believe her, but then a huge smile broke out across the elf's face and she put down her things. "Thank you, Miss, thank you. If you need anything, please call me, I'll come back immediately."

"Thank you, Tibby, but I'm sure that won't be necessary."

The elf backed out of the kitchen and Hermione was left alone. She surveyed the room. God, she loved it. It was one of the most extraordinary rooms she had ever been in, and she felt strangely possessive of it, something she would never presume to feel about any other part of the house. This feeling was partially brought on by the fact that she knew Narcissa had probably only rarely stepped into it. At length, she would arrange a schedule with Tibby, times when she could come and cook regularly.

Hermione breathed a deep, happy sigh. Her disclosure of her invitation to Draco had gone as well as could be expected, Lucius had had a hugely successful meeting at St Mungo's, she had greeted him ... enthusiastically earlier, and now she could enjoy an evening in this amazing kitchen cooking for someone she adored. Life seemed perfect. She poured herself a glass of wine and reached for some ingredients. She noticed a radio in the corner. At first she thought it may have been an ordinary Muggle one, but then noticed the dial, which indicated the ability to pick up magical broadcasts from around the world. Somehow Hermione did not feel like listening to anything magical tonight and so tuned in to a local Muggle station which was playing music from the 80s and 90s.

She laughed to herself at the incongruity of listening to Duran Duran in the kitchen of Malfoy Manor, but couldn't help her hips swaying with the beat which issued out of the speakers. She had forgotten how much she loved to dance.

She continued to cook, singing along to whatever song came on and dancing around the kitchen, her body moving sensuously to the sounds she heard. She was in her own world entirely.

She did not notice Lucius come and stand imperceptibly just to the side of the doorway.

Another song came on; Guns N' Roses – Sweet Child o' Mine. Hermione opened her mouth and laughed. She would never admit to liking this when out, but here, in her own private world, it was perfect, and as the heavy guitar intro started, she threw her head back and writhed her hips down to the ground, before rising smoothly again to continue her cooking.

The man in the doorway was transfixed by what he was seeing. The music held no charm for him, but what did it matter when he had the most glorious sight before him, swaying and dancing so exquisitely? He could not tear his eyes away, but forced himself to remain hidden from view. When the singer started, he briefly wondered if he could stay, he did not think he had ever heard such a painful sound emerging from someone's mouth. But the harshness of the man's voice (he assumed it was a man, although it was hard to tell) forced his ears to listen.

"_She's got a smile that it seems to me  
Reminds me of childhood memories  
Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky  
Now and then when I see her face  
She takes me away to that special place  
And if I stared too long  
I'd probably break down and cry_

_Oh, sweet child o' mine  
Oh, sweet love of mine"_

The significance of the words took his breath away. This combined with the vision of Hermione before him, almost in a trance as she let the music move her body, was too much and he tore himself away at the sudden onslaught of emotions which beset him. But try as he might, the lyrics kept forcing their way into his mind, and the next words he heard were so redolent he thought he may weep.

_"Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place  
Where as a child I'd hide  
And pray for the thunder and the rain  
To quietly pass me by_

_Oh, sweet child o' mine  
Oh, sweet love of mine"_

He turned once again to gaze on the sight before him. Hermione remained oblivious to his presence, her hips continued to undulate so sensuously he thought he may pass out with longing. Her hands ran themselves up and down her body, her head had fallen back, eyes closed. He could not stop himself. He walked over to her swiftly and pulled her into him. She screamed in surprise, but his mouth immediately came down to silence her. She pulled back, gasping, her heart racing. She had been so completely engrossed in her own world, that his sudden appearance had shocked her badly, but his mouth and hands now firm on her soon soothed her, and the fire which the music had ignited inside quickly flared up.

She reached her arms up around him and jumped up onto him, wrapping her legs around his hips. He walked her over to the kitchen table and she fell back onto it. He lost no time in reaching down and pulling her trousers and knickers down in one swift motion. He immediately plunged his head down to her sex, his tongue questing deeply into her, while his fingers parted her, finding her inflamed bud and circling it deliciously. Hermione pulled in a sharp hissing breath and arched her back off the table, pushing herself further onto his mouth in the process. His tongue now came out and licked hard, up, to take the place of his fingers which moved so deep inside her, stroking, strumming. The guitar continued to wail from the radio.

Hermione was delirious with sensation. Her body had already been tensely poised from the music and dancing, and now his lips and tongue were pushing her quickly over the edge. After a few more deft, urgent swirls around her tender nub of flesh, he encircled it fully with his lips and sucked hard. His fingers swirled inside her and she tensed, then convulsed, her fingers twisting into his hair as she screamed her pleasure out, the sound rivalled only by the screeches of Axl Rose.

He pulled her up abruptly and spun her round, pushing her down hard onto the table, her hair splaying out around her. He groaned loudly, then she suddenly felt him deep inside her, so quick and hard it made her gasp. He stroked swiftly, once again finding her g-spot which he had already inflamed with his fingers earlier. His thrusts were desperate and brutal, her tight walls quickly bringing him close. Her already engorged clit was being repeatedly rubbed against the side of the table, and this, combined with the feelings his iron cock was drawing from her depths meant that she was quickly brought towards another orgasm. The sight of her and the sensation of her tensing around him finished him. His fingers dug painfully into her hips. They both came, crying out, as the last chord of the song died away.

He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, the speed and intensity of their coupling surprising them both. She reached a hand over to caress his head. He breathed heavily into her neck.

"I didn't know you liked Guns N' Roses."

"I do not, and neither will I in future. But I am more than happy for you to like them if that's the way it makes you behave. And the lyrics were ..."

"What?" She did not understand what he meant.

"Emotive."

She smiled thoughtfully, but her brain had not quite recovered enough to fully think through his meaning.

After a while, he reluctantly pulled out of her and she roused herself enough, tidying herself up, to continue with the cooking. She turned the radio off and he sat down at the table, taking a glass of wine with him. They chatted contentedly, and he told her in more detail about his meeting at the hospital.

Hermione had quickly acquainted herself with the kitchen, and went about making chicken risotto with ease and skill. She was engrossed in her task and she did not notice Lucius staring at her every move, a smile of pleasure caressing his features as he studied her.

When at last she placed the food in front of him and sat down beside him, he immediately rewarded her with a heartfelt, "Thank you."

"Goodness," she smirked. "Three times in an hour. I am a lucky bunny."

He raised an eyebrow. "Does the rabbit analogy have anything to do with the frequency of our carnal activities?"

She laughed aloud. "Carnal activities!? You do have a way with words, Mr Malfoy."

He smiled across at her. "And you, apparently, have a way with food. This is delicious."

She blushed at his compliment. "Thank you. I'm glad you like it. I'd like to see what you can cook at some point."

Again, the eyebrow was raised sardonically. She smiled to herself. She doubted he had ever cooked a thing in his entire life. Perhaps she could change that in due course.

They finished their meal and after Hermione agreeing to magic to quickly clean and tidy the plates, they returned to the sitting room, where Lucius once again poured her a glass of idlelight and himself a whisky.

She lay next to him and he encircled his arm around her. They sat looking at the fire flickering before them.

She had never been happier.

And neither had he.

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***sigh***

**R and R if you wish. Do appreciate it. xxx**


	45. Forty Five: Normality

**This is a sort of in-betweeny chapter. Still, lots going on though ...**

**Thanks as ever for the reviews and interest. You are all fabby! x**

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Forty Five – Normality

Hermione awoke the next day to the same smell which had reawakened and stirred her into new life that first day in Flourish and Blotts. She did not immediately open her eyes, but could feel Lucius' smooth soft skin beneath her cheek, hear his heartbeat strong and steady pulsing into her head, and allowed herself the luxury of being soothed by his regular deep breathing beneath her. She inhaled strongly. Musk and spice. Musk and spice. She wondered for the first time what created that glorious scent that was so unique and redolent of him. Strangely, the encounter in the bookshop had not been the first time she had smelt it. That is how she knew who it was towering over her then. She had been aware of his scent all those years ago on the occasions when they had met; all of them disagreeable at best. The Quidditch World Cup, The Department of Mysteries, the Manor before the final battle ...

How could an opinion of someone be so different now? It still perplexed her, and filled her with sadness, not with remorse at who she was now with, but at the fact that knowing him truly now, she realised he had squandered so much before, had denied himself so much, had suffered so, in pursuit of ... what? Power? Glory? Respect? Supremacy? And who had driven him to seek those things? The father who had tormented and abused him, murdered ...

Hermione continued to lie still, breathing him into her.

And what of her? She thought back over their conversations, over her behaviour; her willingness to subject her body to him, her need to feel so much pleasure, so much pain, her desire to explore through him the dark recesses of her soul. It scared her, but filled her with such vitality she knew it could be no other way. She never questioned her need for him to possess her, dominate her, at times hurt her. And then there were the moments when the tables were turned, and he was submissive to her. Their tacit understanding of the complex and changing needs of the other staggered and thrilled her. Never had she believed two people to be so completely compatible.

And after their sometimes painful and brutal couplings, as at other times, there remained such a tenderness and respect for the other that she thought her heart would burst at the paradox of it; that she was experiencing this with Lucius Malfoy.

She knew she could never leave him. And hoped, believed, he felt the same. His actions and words of late had done nothing but reassure her of his need for her. She would wait for him to say the words she was still hoping for. She knew that that word, that one word ... love ... held much confusion and pain for him. She was in no hurry for him to say it. She believed it would come when the time was right.

She turned her head and kissed him tenderly on the breast. He inhaled deeply and stirred beneath her. She knew from the stickiness between her legs that they had made love at least once in the darkness of the night, although she had no real recollection of it.

Now he stretched under her, Hermione was still struck by his hard tense muscles as they flexed along his torso. Did she deserve something so beautiful?

His hand came down and caressed her arm, pulling her in even tighter to him. She smiled and sighed out, tears of happiness pricking her eyes. He mumbled above her, "Good morning."

"Hello," she breathed back, trying to hide the emotion she was feeling.

"Saturday," he sighed leisurely. "And I'm not in Azkaban."

Her eyes closed at the remembered pain of the same time the previous week. "Was it only a week ago they came for you? It seems so much longer. So does everything. I feel like we have been together for an age."

"Yes," he drawled. "What do you want to do today?"

"Live."

He smiled. "Good idea."

Now it was her turn to stretch. Her eyes fell over the room as she did so. "This is such a beautiful room. I cannot imagine anywhere more perfect."

He was silent for a while before commenting, "It is not the largest bedroom in the house. I put you in here when you first arrived that night, as I thought you would find it the most comforting. I had not really thought about it becoming 'our' bedroom."

Hermione giggled slightly at the image of domesticity he conjured up. It still seemed strange to her. But then her mind niggled, and she summoned the courage to ask.

"Is the master bedroom very grand?"

He did not reply for a while then commented flatly, "I suppose you could say that."

"Did you stay in it after she left?"

"No."

"Did you stay in your boyhood room? Oh ... sorry ... that was crass and ignorant." For a brief moment she had forgotten what had happened in that particular place. She glanced up at him, fearful of his reaction. He merely stroked her face.

"Don't worry." He sighed. "No. Luckily this house has enough bedrooms to house an army. There were plenty more for me to choose from. But there was no doubt which room I would use."

He stopped speaking. She waited.

"It was my mother's."

Hermione stroked him tenderly, moved by his revelation, although now he had said it, it seemed obvious to her.

"Did your mother and father not share a room?"

"Only rarely, as far as I am aware. I have a very vague memory of going into her room in the morning, with her sitting in the middle of this enormous bed, blonde hair endlessly flowing out around her. She had to help me up onto it, it was so high. She would look down at me, stroke my head, sing to me ... I remember very little ..." he spoke with a gentleness rarely exhibited. "I will show you that room, if you would like."

"I would like that very much." She turned to look up at him.

"Lucius … I love you so much."

She wondered briefly why she had said it, she did not want it to seem as if she was fishing for a similar reply. He smiled down at her and stroked her hair, his eyes filled with an almost unbearable tenderness, but he said nothing. She did not expect it and lay back down.

They stayed in bed most of the morning, joined almost perpetually, unable to leave each other's bodies. Hermione lost track of the number of times they had come, their orgasms seeming to blend into the next one, as their minds swayed with delirium. Eventually, the hunger their ardent fervour had built up got the better of them and they staggered downstairs in just their night robes, going into the kitchen to find Tibby preparing some food for a brunch. Hermione was once again amazed that she always seemed to have just the right food ready at just the right time, despite being given no prior warning.

"Thank you, Tibby. Miss Granger and I will eat in here."

The elf bowed slightly to her master, and quickly assembled the food on the table. Hermione found herself blushing slightly as she recalled the activity that had taken place on it the night before and was relieved that she had performed a thorough cleansing charm immediately afterwards.

Tibby finished her jobs and bowed to them before leaving the room.

They sat and ate hungrily, unable to look away from each other, occasionally reaching over, entwining fingers, kissing, stroking.

The rest of the day was spent walking, talking, exploring the grounds, Lucius rediscovering places long ago forgotten. He developed an almost childlike joy as he uncovered distant memories and feelings, and it filled Hermione with ever-increasing delight in him. In the late afternoon she went for a swim. After a few minutes he joined her and they moved leisurely through the water, sometimes embracing ardently, sometimes respecting the other's space and need for the water to ease their limbs. They seemed to instinctively be able to gauge when the time was right for each.

After their swim they returned upstairs to change. Hermione noticed a small staircase tucked at the end of a corridor she had not noticed before. "What's up there?" she queried.

He turned to her nonchalantly, "Servants' quarters and an attic space, filled with ... rubbish."

"Rubbish?"

"Yes. Things of no consequence. I suppose at some point I should endeavour to sort them through."

"I'll help if you want."

He smirked at her. "You are too conscientious for your own good. But I do not mind if you wish to go up there sometime and have a look. I'm sure there will be one or two things of interest to you."

She was surprised at the ease with which he had suggested it. "I'd like that. Thank you."

They returned to bed – when together it was impossible for them to stay away from it for long. He entered her almost as soon as they lay down, bringing them both swiftly to palpitating climaxes. Tibby later brought them a snack in the room. They did not leave it again until morning, their mutual lust and need for each other never diminishing throughout the night.

Sunday was a similar story. If this was a 'normal' weekend, Hermione wondered what an unusual one would be like! They managed a walk to the local village, where Hermione bought the Sunday Times. Lucius queried the volume of paper needed, and questioned the necessity of the many different sections and magazines it entailed. Hermione replied that reading the Sunday papers was about time and leisure. Sometimes the sheer volume of material reassured the reader that they at last, after a busy week, could be afforded some spare time to devote to it. Lucius was not convinced.

On their return, they found themselves once again in bed, the papers strewn around them. Hermione was determined to read, despite Lucius' attention to her breasts and clit. Her eyes remained firmly fixed on an article about global warming while he sucked mercilessly at her right nipple and his fingers twirled delectably around the sensitive bud between her legs. She pretended to ignore him.

"Have you seen these figures? It's scary how quickly all this is happening. The polar ice caps are vital for our survival on this planet."

"Hmm ..."

Two fingers quested deep inside her. His tongue laved the rock-hard point of her breast.

"There's going to be a summit about it. Still, I doubt if anything can be achieved. They say all the right things for the press, but then when the figures have to be implemented it's all conveniently forgotten." She was impressed by her own ability to appear so impassively detached while he brought her closer and closer to ecstasy. In reality, she was so close to coming she thought she would pass out. His teeth closed on her nipple and his fingers teased her clit, causing her belly to flip.

Her eyes swam on the page, and she could pretend no more. She let the paper slip from her grasp and slid herself down the bed, propelling his fingers into her even more. His mouth had moved to her other breast and with a few brief but skilled laves of his tongue, his teeth enclosed the nipple while his fingers circled around her tender nub, coaxing it higher and higher to perfect pleasure.

"Ohhhh ..." she arched off the bed, her eloquent verbosity now impossible, replaced instead by the purely erotic moans of her delirium. With a final hard suck at her breast and an exquisite rub of her clit, she froze, then spasmed off the bed, pressing against his hand to try to fuse it to her. Her ecstasy sounded in a groan ripped from her depths, and she twitched uncontrollably amongst the papers for the longest time, causing them to crinkle and rustle under her, as her pleasure continued to pulse through her body.

He stroked over her body, easing out the last remnants of ecstasy and looked down at her, mock serious. "You were saying about global warming?"

She panted up to him, eyes glazed. "It doesn't matter. Only you matter. Only you."

"That's better." He leaned down to kiss her tenderly, manoeuvring on top of her then suddenly and unexpectedly thrusting deep into her. She gasped at the shock of his size only moments after her own satisfaction, but immediately she welcomed him and writhed beneath him, squeezing her muscles around him. "God, Lucius, you're so hard, always so hard ... I love it ... _I love your cock_ ..."

Her words were like honey to him, and she felt him swell even more inside her. She moaned and tensed around him. He thrust frantically, his eyes closed, focusing solely on the feel of her around him. "So tight ... _so tight_ ... so good ... _nothing like it_ ... nothing ..."

Her hands reached behind and she deliberately scratched her nails slowly and deeply up his back. He groaned in ecstasy and thrust ever harder, propelling her up the bed. "Yes ... _more_ ... I need to feel it ..." She dug her nails deeper into him, knowing she was drawing blood. She drew them up, eliciting an agonised groan out of him. She squeezed around him. He pounded into her, drilling his steel cock further and further into her tightness. His face twisted in ecstasy and he convulsed above her, his cock exploding deep within her as he groaned his fulfilment out.

Hermione gazed up at him in wonder. She rarely had the opportunity to focus so much on his pleasure, and the expression on his face. It was one that reminded her of pain and suffering, but knew instead that what he was feeling was banishing that pain, not causing it.

He collapsed heavily onto her, his body slick with sweat. She ran her hands over his back, feeling it wet, and knowing that blood mixed with the perspiration.

She brought her fingers before her. They were red with his blood. She gasped. He glanced blearily at her, groaning out, "What?" She held her fingers before his eyes. He smirked. "I'm not surprised. It was exquisite."

She reached over for a tissue and wiped her hands off. She resisted the urge to apologise to him.

Again, they ate in the room, and fell swiftly into a deep sleep, their bodies never apart.

The next day, Monday, dawned with the oppressive realisation that they had jobs to do. Lucius had various appointments to do with his business interests, St Mungo's and the estate and Hermione had an important meeting with Shacklebolt early in the day. They busied themselves around the house, eating a quick breakfast in the dining room. Hermione's mind moved to the dinner which she hoped Draco would come to, and before leaving for work she went into the kitchen to discuss it with Tibby.

"Tibby. I expect Master Draco to join us for dinner tomorrow night."

Tibby glanced apprehensively at her for a moment, before remembering her position and turning away, mumbling, "Certainly, Miss."

"You know him far better than I do. I'm sure you know his tastes in food. Could you prepare a three course meal for tomorrow night?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione, I shall see what I can do."

Hermione thought Tibby looked rather concerned at the prospect, but smiled kindly down at her before leaving. She returned to the dining room to bid farewell to Lucius, never easy. He held her tight, and she feared she would lose all her resolve and be unable to go. She looked up at him. His face was set straight and serious, and she smiled to try to relieve his intensity. He reached down to kiss her, then parted to speak tenderly. "It was a wonderful weekend."

"Yes."

"Hurry back. I cannot bear to be away from you."

"I will. I will, my love. How can I not?"

They kissed deeply again, then Hermione tore herself away and ran to the chimney, travelling to the Ministry by floo. The sudden shock of arriving in the busy atrium was bewildering and aggravating, and she struggled not to turn immediately back and return to him. Still, she had that meeting to attend, and she shook herself away from the joys of what she had left behind and went up to Shacklebolt's office.

She walked in purposefully and brightly, determined not to show any weakness on her part. The meeting was to discuss further developments in Muggle-Wizard relations, and how they could possibly be extended abroad. There were several eminent wizards there, and Hermione could not suppress a feeling of nervousness creep over her as she sat, all eyes on her.

But as the meeting progressed, the tension dispersed and Hermione relaxed, allowing her natural self-confidence and determination to come to the fore. She spoke eloquently and constructively, putting across several points which were quickly taken up by the others. It was clear her star was still in the ascendancy.

Towards the end of the meeting, Kingsley turned to her and asked suddenly, "Now, Hermione, I know that things have changed somewhat, but I need to ask, how do you feel the rehabilitation of Lucius Malfoy is going?"

She turned to him blankly. He had asked the question so clinically and tersely that she wondered if he was doing it to aggravate her. She could not speak for a moment, then shook herself out of the shock and responded.

"Fine. I mean ... very well ... he is not the man he used to be, if that is how you want me to put it."

Kingsley could tell her hackles were up and smiled at her. "I'm sorry to put it so abruptly, Hermione, but the monitoring of former Death Eaters, especially one as powerful as Mr Malfoy, cannot be taken too lightly. Do you feel you are still the right person to fulfil the task?"

Hermione bristled further. She knew Kingsley was just doing his job, but it was clear her relationship with Lucius had upset more people than she realised.

"Personally, I do not believe Mr Malfoy needs any further tuition. He has recently integrated more and more into the Muggle world, which he has accepted enthusiastically, and he has shown … no signs of his former nature." She lowered her head at this point, her little lie flushing her cheeks.

"I do not doubt Mr Malfoy's desire to show _you_ what he can be now, but I feel it would be foolish of us to stop the monitoring process. I know Mr Malfoy has just been reaccepted onto the Board of St Mungo's, something which I am more than happy to support, but it shall be interesting to see how that develops."

Hermione could not stop from glaring at him. "I'm sure it will … develop … most satisfactorily for all concerned, Minister."

The coldness which suddenly existed between Hermione and the most important man in the wizarding world, someone whom she had always considered a good friend, was palpable in the air between them. Shacklebolt leaned in to Hermione slightly.

"Hermione. Remember, Lucius Malfoy is an exceptionally powerful wizard, whom until recently was acknowledged as one of the darkest around. You are understandably biased in your views. But you must remember that the rest of us are not wearing rose-coloured spectacles. I am pleased with what we have seen so far, and long may it continue, but, I must inform you, that Mr Malfoy will continue to be monitored very carefully for a long time to come."

His words sent a chill through Hermione, which nearly caused her to faint. She swallowed hard. If she stepped back from her relationship with Lucius, she could only agree that it was a natural course of action to take. No matter how Lucius had changed, she knew it would be foolish in the eyes of the Ministry to allow such a formerly dangerous and powerful wizard to be let loose. Still, it pained her greatly to know that other people still had their claws in him and could send him back to hell on a whim should they wish. He could not afford to put a foot wrong. If it hadn't been for her, she was sure he would be in Azkaban now after the incident in the park. She did not feel like letting him out of her sight.

She came out of the meeting sobered by the public reminder of who he had once been. She glanced at Kingsley as she left. He was looking at her with concern, but she could not bring herself to speak to him again. She went back to her office swiftly and shut the door behind her. It was only lunchtime. She suddenly felt a deep hatred of the Ministry and its pious need to pry and snoop and check up on her life ... his life. She found herself breathing out, "Oh, go to hell, the lot of you."

She reached for her wand, intending to apparate away from the place, back to Lucius, but then she remembered he had said he would be out all day, and she did not know exactly where. Her need for him made her heave out a sob, and the despondency which overtook her body prevented her from moving from her desk. She sat, shutting out the rest of the world, her head in her hands. At length, she rose and left for Diagon Alley, on the off-chance that she may bump into him there. She did not.

The day wore slowly on, Hermione counting down the minutes until she could return to him. At last she managed to complete her work – even at her lowest point, it was always a welcome distraction – and she picked up her wand to apparate; she could not bear the thought of facing all those people in the building beyond her office.

The experience was again not a pleasant one, but Hermione landed with a relieved bump just outside the Manor (she never seemed to be able to make it straight inside, although Lucius had amended the charms to allow her to do so). She unlocked the door with a spell and went in. She called brightly for him, but ascertained with quick disappointment that he had not yet returned home.

Sighing to herself, she went through to the kitchen, where she found Tibby working away steadily.

"Hello, Tibby. Have you had a good day?"

Tibby spun to greet her with a broad smile. "Yes, thank you, Miss Hermione. I hope your day went well too?"

Hermione wished she could reply positively, but found she couldn't. "Hmm ... I've had better."

Tibby looked at her warmly. Hermione continued, "Still, it's good to be ..." She stopped abruptly, not sure what word to end the sentence with. Tibby did it for her.

"Home?"

Hermione looked round at her with slight surprise, the word sounded so strange in that context. But, yes, she was home, this is where she now belonged, wanted to be. She smiled in agreement down at the elf. "Yes, Tibby, it's good to be home."

Tibby turned away from her and picked up a piece of parchment lying on the table. "I have taken the liberty of preparing a menu for your meal with Master Draco tomorrow night. Would you care to take a look?"

"Oh, well done, Tibby. Thank you. Let's see." Hermione took the parchment and read it swiftly. It contained a straightforward old-fashioned meal of French onion soup to start with, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and bread and butter pudding to end. Hermione would have preferred something a little lighter for herself, but Tibby soon explained her choices.

"Master Draco always liked good home-cooking, nothing fancy. Sunday lunch was always his favourite, when he was happiest. I thought it would be safest to go along those lines."

"A very wise decision, Tibby. I'm sure it will be super. Thank you so much. Are you able to get everything you need?"

"Yes, Miss, I got all the ingredients today."

"Great! Well, I'll talk to you about it more tomorrow. But, I think it should all go really well." She tried to sound optimistic. Tibby did not look convinced.

Hermione smiled awkwardly at her then left the room. As she was re-entering the hall, she heard a pop to her left and went into the sitting room to find Lucius dusting himself off after apparating home. A huge grin broke out over her face and she rushed over to him. She closed her arms rapidly round his neck and reached up to kiss him. It was tender and loving, and lacked much of the violent passion of late, but contained so much longing that she felt herself melting into him.

He looked tired but happy. "How was your day?" she inquired.

He raised a weary eyebrow. "Busy, but productive."

She smiled up at him, not sure what she should say about hers. She doubted he would be surprised the Ministry reserved judgement on him, and continued to monitor him, but she did not particularly want him to know how badly she had reacted to the news. She walked over and slumped down on the sofa. He immediately came over and sat next to her, seeming to read her mind.

"What's the matter?" he drawled smoothly but genuinely.

She looked at him in surprise. Was it that obvious? She shrugged slightly at him, trying to be nonchalant.

"Tell me," he reiterated more firmly.

She sighed deeply. She hated keeping things from him.

"I had a meeting with Kingsley and some other senior wizards, and the subject of ... you ... came up."

"Were they questioning our relationship?" He sounded annoyed.

"No ... nothing like that ..."

"Well then?"

"He just ... made it quite clear to me that you were still being monitored, and would continue to be for a while."

He smirked cynically, not looking directly at her. "Surely that does not surprise you. Those cowardly fools at the Ministry aren't going to relinquish their grasp on me if they can help it. They need to feel in control. To have me under their thumb must give them quite a thrill. My dear, do not let that trouble you. It comes as no surprise to me, although I admit I continue to abhor it."

She smiled at him, but felt no better. He could tell, and raised an expectant concerned eyebrow to her.

"It's just ... the way Kingsley spoke about you in front of me was very ... brusque. He's never been like that before."

Lucius stroked her hair. "Hermione, you need to understand that a relationship with me comes at a price. Your old friends are clearly going to find it hard to accept what is happening between us. You will find people treat you differently now."

She sighed. She knew he was right, was happy to accept that, but had only really experienced it properly today, with someone whose opinion of her mattered.

"They are all still very happy with my work. The rest of the meeting was very good. It was just ... you."

"It always is."

She snuggled into him, breathing in his aroma for reassurance. "I don't mind really you know. It was just strange today, and I resent their power over you."

"Power?! I would certainly not call it that. I simply have to go along with their little schemes in order to exist in the way I wish. They will never hold any power over me."

He pulled her in tightly to him. She adored him entirely.

"Has anyone ever had power over you?" She knew the answer but wondered if he would admit it.

"My father, ... the Dark Lord, clearly." He answered immediately. It surprised her. "No one else ... Until now."

She looked up, confused. "Who now?"

He met her eyes, such fire in them she nearly had to look away. He spoke one word before reaching down to kiss her with exquisite tenderness.

"You."

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**God, Lucius, you sure know how to get a girl going!!!**

**Next chapter - guess who's coming to dinner ... or is he ... ?**

**Let me know what you think. xxx**


	46. Forty Six: Dinner

**So - will Draco turn up ...?**

**Thanks for the reviews, as ever. My fingers are burning getting these chapters written one a day now, but I'm doing it willingly. I don't feel I can stop right now!! I'm on holiday at the moment so I do have time to do it, and mainly work at night, but please excuse me if I miss a day here or there. I'm glad this one is up - I was worrying about it, but in the end, I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. It was a tricky one.**

**Enjoy! x**

* * *

Forty Six - Dinner

Before she went to sleep that night, despite the comfort of Lucius' arms around her, Hermione allowed her mind a twinge of worry about the following evening. Would Draco even turn up? And if he did, what would transpire? She had dreaded him not coming, but now she found herself worrying more about him actually being there. How should she treat him in front of his father? She had no idea how the two of them had left things at their last meeting, although she knew it was not good. How would they be with each other now?

She noticed Lucius breathing regularly and heavily beside her; he had gone to sleep. At least he did not seem to be dreading the encounter too much. She closed her eyes, cleared her mind as best she could, and tried to let slumber take her. Eventually, it did.

When she awoke the next day she heard the familiar English sound of dull drumming on the windows. It was raining. She let her mind tune into the regular soothing noise, wishing she did not have to rouse herself to go to work. Turning over, she jumped slightly to find Lucius next to her, his eyes wide open, staring intently at her. She smiled across at him, reaching up to brush his hair off his face. He kissed her hand as it passed over his mouth.

She stretched. "What time is it?"

"About seven o'clock."

She groaned. Not early enough to continue to lie there. Not late enough to give her enough urgency to motivate her to get up.

She remembered what was happening that evening.

"Draco's coming tonight."

"So you seem to think."

She looked at him. "I have to be optimistic. He didn't say no."

"You don't know my son."

"Actually, Lucius, that isn't entirely true. I spent seven years in all too hellishly close proximity to him."

He turned from her, looking straight up at the canopy. "I am ashamed that I produced something that you despised so much."

She sighed. "Lucius, no matter how you influenced him and guided him, he was still his own person. Ultimately, we have to accept responsibility for who we are and how we behave. Draco was the one who chose to be the person he was." She looked at him. "Anyway, I despised you before as well ... and you despised me."

The truth of her words could not be denied.

He lifted his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them hard, as if trying to eradicate a vision of the past.

She leaned over him, smiling gently. "Hey. I think we've managed to overcome those feelings now ... just a bit." She kissed him, lightly at first, her lips warm and tender on him, not rushing. She felt him relax under her and he parted his lips, allowing her tongue to quest into his mouth. She flicked it lightly around him, opening his mouth further with hers and breathing into him. Her tongue moved delicately, exploring all corners of him, until at last it returned to his tongue and twirled gently around it. Only then did he respond with his, his passion quickly intensifying, as his tongue captured hers and swirled around it. His hand came up to clasp her head to him, and he suddenly and swiftly rolled her over. She felt him hard and urgent against her thigh and she quickly moved under him, her legs parting for him. His mouth broke away, travelling down her neck, planting hot, searing kisses as it went. She moaned aloud and managed to breathe out her need to him, "Hurry, please, hurry."

With that, he glanced down at his throbbing cock and plunged deeply into her, hitting her cervix straight away. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she grunted with satisfaction. He filled her spectacularly; she adored it.

Reaching up with his hands, he turned her head to force her to look at him, continuing to thrust brutally into her over and over again, withdrawing almost fully, before plunging back in to the hilt each time.

He leant down suddenly to sear her with a hard, deep kiss, then held her head to speak, a low, sensual hiss. "Yes, I despised you. I despised everything you stood for." He continued to pound into her, rubbing along her clit at the same time. His words and the feelings he was sending through her electrified body caused her to moan uncontrollably. She was so close, every muscle tensed, she thought she was on fire. His cock continued to pound, his words stimulate. "No more, witch, no more. _You have undone me._ You have torn down my walls. _I need you_. I need everything you are." He thrust viciously one final time and they both came hard, convulsing desperately around each other. Her pleasure heaved through her, the feeling of him inside her equalled by his words and his voice. He groaned deeply, his seed shooting up time and again, filling her, imprinting him on her.

He collapsed onto her, panting heavily. She clasped him to her, unable to let him go. At length she spoke. "It will be alright tonight. I will make sure that it is."

He turned his head slightly and planted a gentle kiss on the side of her breast, then moved away. She sobbed slightly as he withdrew from her. If she could have him inside her all day, she would. But then she realised time had passed and, without another look in his direction, she hurried to the bathroom.

They spoke little for the rest of the morning, as they prepared quickly for the day. She kissed him deeply in farewell and went by floo to work.

The day passed slowly, although Hermione did notice that the intense scrutiny she had received from people in the days immediately after the hearing had dwindled somewhat. As the hours wore on, a sense of foreboding filled her, as much for Lucius, as for herself.

Just before five o'clock she tidied her desk, and went out to Priscilla. Her secretary looked up at her. "Miss Granger, I've been meaning to tell you. The Minister has an invitation for you." She handed a stiff embossed card to Hermione. She read it quickly.

It was an invitation for her 'and guest' to a reception hosted by Kingsley to celebrate the anniversary of his appointment as official Minister for Magic. It was this coming Friday.

She looked down at Priscilla. "Does he really mean 'and guest'? He knows who I'll bring."

Priscilla shrugged slightly. "Guest means guest, but if you're worried about it, you'll have to ask him yourself."

Hermione smiled down at her. Since the disclosure of her relationship with Lucius, Priscilla had been much more straight and open about things, something which Hermione admired.

"Do you know of anyone else who is coming to this?"

"Mr Potter and Miss Weasley have been invited." Priscilla glanced up at Hermione. "And I believe Mr Weasley too."

"Ron?"

"Yes. And possibly Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley."

Hermione's heart sank. She would love to go to a reception with Lucius as a couple, but the thought of having to face Ron and his family was too much. She pocketed the invitation. She couldn't think anymore about it now, and tried to put it from her mind. She had to get home.

She bid farewell to Priscilla, and left for the atrium, where the noise and crowds gave her the motivation she needed to travel swiftly back to the Manor.

Lucius was there already, and Hermione saw that his body held a tension which had not been present for a while. She greeted him warmly and they held each other close, then Hermione went into the kitchen to see how Tibby was getting on with the food. All seemed to be going well, and she returned to Lucius in the sitting room. He was sitting with a whisky.

"Good day?" she asked as cheerfully as she could.

"Not bad," he muttered distractedly, before finishing his drink and immediately rising to pour himself another.

Hermione looked on with concern, but decided not to say anything for the time being. She sat with him for a while, but was unsure what to say. He said nothing, merely stared into the flames of the fire before him. After a while, Hermione rose. "I'll go and get the dining room ready."

He did not even notice her leave.

Hermione set about making the dining room and the table as welcoming and inviting as possible. She set three places close together at the long table and waved her wand to draw the curtains, making the room appear smaller and more intimate than it was. Then she returned to the kitchen, asking Tibby if there was anything she could do. There of course was not. Hermione then resisted the urge to go and see how Lucius was, feeling he needed time to himself. She went upstairs to change, choosing a pretty but demure dress, which she topped with a light pink cardigan. She glanced at herself in the mirror, sighing deeply as the butterflies threatened to upend her stomach.

At quarter to eight she descended the staircase again and went into the sitting room. Lucius seemed to have hardly moved, although Hermione noticed the level in the whisky bottle had dropped significantly. Luckily, he did not seem any the worse for it, she was relieved to see.

She sat next to him, silently. They waited. Eight o'clock came and went.

Hermione heard every tick of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Lucius spoke not a word, nor looked at her. She respected his need for solitude and kept her own peace.

Time passed. Quarter past eight. Half past eight.

At quarter to nine, Hermione rose quietly and went to the kitchen. Tibby was sitting, as expectant as the rest of them.

Hermione spoke softly. "Master Draco seems to be a little delayed, Tibby. Would it be possible to keep things on hold a while longer?"

Tibby smiled gently at her. "Of course, Miss Hermione."

Hermione returned to the sitting room. She could not sit down again, and paced quietly behind him. At nine o'clock his voice broke the silence of the room.

"He's not coming."

His sudden words jolted her. She stopped and turned to him. "There's still time."

"He won't come. I was a fool to think he might." He rose swiftly, and walked out past her, heading for the study.

"Lucius!"

He did not respond and entered the room, shutting the door heavily behind him.

His behaviour frustrated her as much as Draco's inability to turn up. She groaned with annoyance and went to slump into the sofa. The clock continued to tick.

At half past nine, Hermione decided to give up hope of Draco appearing. She sighed deeply, her head hanging in her hands. She had tried. Tried and failed. The trouble was, now he had added insult to injury, and the situation was even worse than before.

She stood up, and headed to the kitchen to tell Tibby to clear the things away, put the food in the fridge, they would eat it over the next few days. She entered the hallway and turned towards the kitchen.

There were two low but clear knocks on the front door. She froze. She took two steps towards it, then stopped, turning and heading instead to the study quickly. She tapped gently on the door. "Lucius? Someone knocked at the door. Will you answer it?"

He did not seem to respond for an age. Hermione started to panic, fearing that the person who had knocked on the front door would go. Luckily, there was another knock, slightly louder this time. Hermione called again, "Lucius!"

The door of the study opened. He stood there momentarily, glancing down at her. She smiled slightly up at him, and with that he strode over to the front door, drew himself up to his full height and opened it.

Draco stood outside, not looking up. Lucius stood fully in the doorway, preventing his son from entering the house. Hermione hung back, her heart beating loudly in her chest. She took two steps forward, her footsteps resounding on the oak floor.

The sound seemed to stir Lucius. His head turned slightly to the noise of the woman behind him, then slowly he stepped aside, holding the door open for his son to enter the house.

Draco stepped inside, not looking up at his father. The first person he made eye contact with was Hermione, who stood in front of him.

She spoke first. "Hello, Draco."

He moved his head slightly in acknowledgement and took off his outer robes. Hermione moved to take them. He looked at her in surprise at her deferential gesture, then handed her his robes. Lucius glanced at her sharply and she looked firmly back at him.

"You're late." Lucius' voice at last sounded, cold and hard.

Draco turned to his father, the sneer more evident than ever. Hermione knew it was a defensive gesture.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe I'm here at all."

"If you are going to take that attitude you can leave immediately."

The tension between father and son was unbearable. Hermione did not want to lose Draco only moments after he had arrived. She stepped forward quickly.

"Draco. Thank you for coming. I know how difficult it must have been for you."

She detected Lucius sniffing in and raising himself up cynically next to her. She shot him a sharp glare before continuing.

"Come on, both of you. You should probably go straight into the dining room. I'll go and tell Tibby you're here."

She turned and left quickly, wanting to get the meal underway before any of them backed out.

She hurried to the kitchen. "Tibby. Master Draco has arrived. I'll help with some magic to sort the food out. I'm sure we can salvage it."

Tibby looked amazed that the younger Malfoy had turned up, and was startled into action. Quickly assembling the crockery, she allowed Hermione to mumble some words over the soup, which immediately began to bubble encouragingly in the pot. Together they ladled it out, again using magic to swiftly grill the croutons and cheese on top. The two of them carried the bowls into the dining room, where Hermione was relieved to find Lucius and his son sitting already, albeit silently.

Once the bowls had been put down, Tibby left the room and Hermione sat.

They started to eat. It was lucky they had that to do, as no one spoke a word for at least five minutes. Father and son did not acknowledge the other's presence and the tension eventually became too much for Hermione.

"How are you finding life at Gringott's?" she blurted out, her voice unnaturally high and squeaky. The strange noise made the two men look up at her in surprise, dispersing the tension slightly. Hermione lowered her head in embarrassment.

Draco eventually answered. "It's not as I'd hoped. I'd like to move on in due course."

"I must say, your office was pretty dull and gloomy. And I can't imagine working with goblins all day is much fun."

"Yeah, well, we can't all have high-flying jobs at the Ministry. Beggars can't be choosers." His voice was laced with spite.

Hermione hung her head and sighed slightly. God, the man was bloody hard work.

She tried again. "Has your father told you about St. Mungo's?"

"My father tells me little, if anything, these days."

Hermione could feel the frustration brewing inside her, but managed to keep her temper at bay. She turned to Draco's father. "Lucius?"

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows, as if completely ignorant of what she expected of him. She merely mimicked his gesture, waiting for him to respond. He breathed in deeply, drawing himself up and wiping his mouth with his napkin, before drawling low, "St Mungo's has reinstated my patronage and asked me to be on the Board."

Draco looked at him. Hermione could not read his expression. At length he spoke.

"Well well. Congratulations, father." There was nothing happy in his voice. The words were spoken with cold hard sarcasm. "Evidently your association with Miss Hermione Granger is opening doors for you. Maybe I should borrow her for a while. Oh ... I forgot ... I don't do mudbloods."

Lucius stood suddenly, pushing his chair back and slamming his fist down on the table. He reached for his wand swiftly and held it to his son's throat.

"Get out of this house, now."

A brief look of terror crossed Draco's face, but he forced himself to relax it and merely sneered, trying not to look at the wand held firmly in his father's clenched fist.

Hermione ran round to Lucius, grabbing onto him. "Stop it! Stop it! Both of you! Don't be so stupid."

Neither moved. The veins in Lucius' neck bulged and his muscles were still tensed. "Lucius." Her voice was gentler to him now. "Please."

He breathed heavily, but slowly lowered his wand. "You will apologise to Hermione." No response. "DO IT!" He shouted his words at the top of his voice.

Draco's breathing was rapid and deep. He swallowed hard, but at length turned to Hermione, still unable to look at her. He mumbled bitterly, "Sorry, Granger."

Lucius drew himself up again. "You will address her appropriately and look at her when you are speaking to her."

Draco glared at his father. He sneered, "What would you have me call her? ... Stepmother?"

Again Lucius lunged for his son, grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him out of his chair. Hermione moved between them, forcibly removing his hands. "This is ridiculous! You're both as bad as each other! For God's sake, come on! I've given you both an opportunity to talk like the adults you are, and you might as well be in the third year again – both of you. Now grow up!"

Both men panted heavily, but moved backwards, straightening their clothes in the process.

"Apologise." Lucius was still insistent.

Draco slowly raised his eyes to Hermione, who boldly held them. "I am sorry ... Hermione."

Hermione was sure it was the first time he had ever used her given name. She nodded slightly to him, then sat down again. The men stayed standing for a while longer. Despite the desperate tension still present, Hermione was determined to win this. She said, remarkably jovially, "Come on then, soup's getting cold."

What more could they do after that? Hermione noted it was Draco who sat first, and picked up his spoon, followed not long after by his father. Then all three finished their soup as the tension eased slightly around them.

Tibby came in hesitantly to remove the bowls, then brought in the roast beef and vegetables. They all sat staring at it.

Hermione once again was the one to speak. "Well, someone has to carve it." She knew it should be Lucius, but at first he did not move. Normally, even in wizarding households, it was traditional to carve joints properly with a knife. But Lucius suddenly reached for his wand, waved it dismissively in the air, and perfectly carved slices of beef landed on each of their plates smoothly. Hermione sighed with his refusal to enter into the spirit of things, but could not question his efficiency. She offered Draco the potatoes. He took them with a grunt of thanks. When everyone had all they required they once again started eating silently. After what had happened last time, Hermione was unsure what to say. She sighed once again, then tried.

"Are you in touch with anyone from Hogwarts, Draco?"

"One or two." It was clear he would not be any more forthcoming.

"Where are you living now?"

"I rent a flat above Knockturn Alley."

Hermione looked at him, unable to hide the surprise on her face. Knockturn Alley had been cleaned up significantly in recent years, but it was still a cheap, insalubrious place to live. She understood more why Narcissa had come to ask about his allowance. He clearly was not earning very much at Gringott's. And Lucius was clearly not that troubled about relieving his financial pressure. Hermione could not see him being like that in previous years. Even she felt slightly sorry for Draco.

"My father does not consider it necessary to supplement my income too much, despite his enormous wealth."

Hermione glanced at Lucius. His mouth twitched, but he managed this time to keep his anger at bay. His voice came, low and measured. "You could always live here."

"Yeah right. As if I'm going to do that. Especially now."

Hermione dropped her knife and fork onto the plate with more of a clatter than she intended. "OK! Maybe if we just ... don't speak!" She huffed out in frustration.

The two men looked at her. If she had reciprocated their glances, she would have noticed a flicker of shame on their faces.

They continued eating, the silence crushing. Near the end of the main course, Draco's voice broke it. Hermione nearly choked in surprise.

"How's Snipworth these days?"

"He's fine ... yes ... I haven't seen much of him in the last few days ... thankfully."

"Thankfully?"

Hermione blushed slightly. "Yes. He's a good boss, but he can be slightly ... oppressive."

Draco sniggered. "That doesn't surprise me. Don't you remember him from school? He was a few years above us, in Hufflepuff. Bloody pompous prefect, always snooping around trying to catch people out."

Hermione looked surprised. "Really? I don't remember him at all! That's so funny. He's OK now really. It's just in light of recent things ..."

Draco looked up, and glanced between her and his father. He guessed what she was referring to.

Hermione was relieved that at last they seemed to be chatting quite normally. Now if only Lucius would join the conversation. She turned to him.

"Have you ever had much to do with Gringott's?"

"Only in so much as the family's financial vault is there. I try to go there as little as possible. Ghastly place. I can't abide the goblins."

Hermione waited for another snide comment from Draco. He was glaring at his father, but this time bit his lip.

"How long is your contract?"

"I'm just coming to the end of my probationary period. Hopefully if I have performed satisfactorily I'll be able to look for employment elsewhere, although I anticipate them extending my contract."

"Have you any reason to doubt your achievements there?"

Draco humphed. "The goblins don't tell you anything. I don't have a clue what they think of me."

There was a moment's silence again. Lucius then spoke, his voice straight but clear.

"Greengage tells me you are doing very well."

Draco looked up at his father, clear shock on his face at the roundabout compliment he had paid him.

Hermione was delighted at Lucius' positive contribution to the conversation. She didn't want the moment to go and asked a trivial but relevant question. "Greengage?"

"Joseph Greengage. One of my business associates. He has close links to Gringott's." Lucius spoke calmly.

"Well that's great. If I were you, I'd start looking elsewhere as soon as possible. You obviously have the brains, and as long as you've proved yourself somewhere as respected as Gringott's you should have no trouble getting another job. There's always something going at the Ministry."

Draco glared at Hermione's bright optimism. She had her head down and didn't notice. "It's not as easy as that for someone like me." His voice was cold, but not as bitter as it could have been.

They had finished the main course and once the plates had been cleared, Tibby brought in the bread and butter pudding. Hermione noticed a clear look of satisfaction pass over both Draco and Lucius' faces – it was obviously a family favourite. Tibby had done well. Hermione felt a warm glow spread through her. Despite the dreadful start, things were now going quite well. Both men seemed to have realised how unproductive their behaviour was. Still, it was a shock when Hermione heard Lucius' voice next.

"And how is your girlfriend?" He spoke genuinely. He clearly did not know they had split up. Hermione felt bad for not mentioning it.

Draco stiffened slightly, but then spoke freely. "It wasn't going anywhere. We ended it not long ago."

"Mutually?" There was concern in Lucius' voice.

"Yeah, I suppose."

"All the more reason why you should leave Gringott's. You'll never meet anyone there."

"And you're suddenly an expert on relationships now are you, father?" Draco's annoyance was clear. Hermione feared Lucius' next move. He said nothing for a while, then finally spoke, softly but clearly.

"I want you to find fulfilment. Despite what you may think, I do actually care."

His words made Hermione gasp in with relief and happiness. Surely that was what Draco needed to hear? She waited for his reaction. Again, there was none for an age, but when at last he did speak, his voice was even, but unsure.

"Fulfilment? I'm not sure I could ever find that with another person." Hermione heard regret in his voice, something she had never heard before in Draco Malfoy.

"Perhaps not. You are hard to please. But it can happen." Lucius spoke sincerely. "It has to me."

Hermione and Draco looked at him in astonishment. His clear acknowledgement of Hermione's influence on him astounded them both. Hermione felt her heart rise to her mouth. She had to grip onto the table to stop herself rushing over and enclosing him to her. She gazed at him in wonder and appreciation, but he resolutely refused to look at either of them. Her eyes then flicked to Draco, seeking out his reaction. He was staring at his father in bewilderment, but then he turned to look at Hermione. She thought she detected, for the first time ever, a change behind his cold eyes.

Nobody spoke much for the remainder of the meal, but there was a new atmosphere between them. It could not be described as contentment, but was certainly a far cry from the dreadful antagonism which had existed at the start of the evening.

After they had finished, Draco stood up quickly. "I have to go now. I have an early start in the morning. It has got late."

"Would you like a drink?" Lucius asked remarkably calmly.

"No ... thank you." Draco still did not look at him, but his voice was more measured than it had been all evening.

Hermione stood. "Thank you for coming, Draco. It has been a ... good evening."

He looked at her cynically but not harshly. Lucius stood gradually and they both walked to the hall with Draco. "Would you prefer to travel by floo?"

"No. That's fine. I can apparate from the hall."

Hermione took the opportunity to comment on her difficulty in doing so. "It's strange. I can never do that. I can only ever get anywhere from just outside."

"That's because you are not a Malfoy." Draco spoke clinically.

She glanced at his father for confirmation. Lucius nodded. "It is true. Only those born into the family can apparate easily to and from the interior of the house. Although if the house feels that a person truly belongs here, after a long while of so proving, it will allow it for them also."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She remembered Narcissa's comment about finding it easier to apparate from outside. It gave her a strange feeling of satisfaction. She refocused and turned her attention back to Draco.

They looked at each other for a while. Then she spoke, as warmly as she could. "Goodbye, Draco. You must come again soon." She held out her hand to him.

He looked down at it, and for a while, she did not think he would take it. Then slowly he took a step forward and reached his hand up to hers, shaking it, limply, but shaking it nonetheless. He turned to his father. Lucius stepped closer to Hermione and put his arm around her waist. It was a gesture not lost on Draco, who flinched slightly, before drawing himself up. Lucius extended his hand.

"Goodbye, Draco."

After another pause, Draco took the hand his father offered him and shook it slightly.

"Goodbye, father."

He withdrew his wand and turned away slightly to disapparate. Then he stopped and looked over at them. "Thank you ... both." With that he flicked his wand and disappeared with a pop.

Lucius and Hermione stood momentarily in the hallway, holding tight to each other. She looked up at him, and smiled cautiously. His face was blank, but she could detect in his eyes the glow she only saw at his moments of true contentment. She lowered her head to his chest and pulled her arms in tight around him. She felt his arms draw further around her and heard his heart deep within his chest, steadying and calming with each beat.

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**So there we are ...**

**Please let me know what you think. As I said, I worried about this chapter. x**


	47. Forty Seven: Pleasure

**Right - another in-betweeny sort of chapter mainly for all you smut fiends out there (uhh ... that would include me, obviously!). Basically this is a series of little erotic drabbles, which I hope you find ... pleasing ... and vaguely amusing (you'll see what I mean). Still - interesting dynamics between H and L. I wrote the different elements a while ago and they seemed to fit here. It's a bit of light relief after yesterday and what is to come in the next couple of days as we tie things up (yup - the end is nigh!).**

**Hope you enjoy! (*Runs off in embarrassment*) xxx**

**PS - Thanks for all the lovely scrummy reviews for the last chapter in particular. **

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Forty Seven - Pleasure

Hermione and Lucius had spoken little to each other after Draco left, but a deep contentment had spread between them. Despite the terrible start to the evening, it had eventually progressed to a satisfactory dialogue between them, thanks mainly to Hermione, something that Lucius was aware of. Draco had left with dignity and appreciation, and Hermione was sure he would now be able to return frequently and continue to rebuild his relationship with his father.

Lucius too had responded well as the evening wore on. Hermione regretted his early outbursts, but had had to restrain herself to resist Draco's deliberate baiting. She could not deny his father a moment of weakness. By the end of the night, Lucius had been civil and inquiring.

As she lay in bed beside him, her mind hearkened back to his words. She was deeply moved that he had admitted so openly to his son that she fulfilled him. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, once again feeling that familiar pricking behind her lids, brought on by the intensity of her emotions. Lucius lay beneath her, his steady breathing so comforting and nourishing that she could not prevent a tear from leaking out beneath her closed lid. It rolled down onto his bare chest and he raised his head to look down at her.

She glanced up, aware that he had felt it, and gave him a watery smile. "The evening went well," she mumbled out.

"After a while."

She lay down again. "That doesn't matter. It is good. It is all good."

He rubbed his hand over her arm. Her eyes closed again and her mind cleared. She fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.

They both slept deeply and soundly, so relieved and exhausted, that their bodies did not allow them their usual nocturnal explorations. Hermione awoke the next day, so refreshed and invigorated, that she rose remarkably spryly, dressing exquisitely for the day ahead. Lucius lay looking at her as she prepared, humming to herself all the while. He could not take his eyes off her. She noticed after a time, and turned to question him. "What?" she smiled in embarrassment.

"What _what_?"

"You're staring at me."

"You provide a most delightful view."

She smiled broadly at him before turning back to do her hair. "Haven't you got anything better to do?" she teased.

"How can there possibly be anything better to do?"

She walked sensuously over to him, and placed one knee on the bed, leaning over him. "Some of us have jobs to go to. Surely you can find something to occupy your time?" She reached over, running her tongue over her lips, and kissed him so tantalisingly she surprised even herself. But she was surprised instantly when she immediately felt two of his fingers thrust deeply up inside her, stroking and pulsing within. She darted her eyes to him. He merely raised his eyebrows, as if querying, will that do?

She looked at him. "I have to go."

His fingers continued to flame within her.

"Go on then," he drawled, inserting another.

She inhaled sharply.

"Really."

"I'm not stopping you."

Moan.

"Yes, you are." His thumb had found her clit.

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop that."

"Oh, I don't think you mean that." He was crooning.

Pleasure.

"Don't be stupid."

"I am not stupid."

Groan. "Fuck."

"Gladly."

Brief panic. "Not now."

"Why not?" Fingers driving to delirium.

"No time." Nearly there.

"Are you late?"

"Nearly."

"I'll stop then." No movement from fingers.

"Don't!"

"Don't what?"

"DON'T STOP!"

"Tut tut, temper!" Thumb circling, caressing.

So close.

"Ohhhh god ... I'm coming."

"Of course you are." One more stroke.

Ecstasy.

"LUCIUS!"

Pause.

"Yes?"

"You bastard."

Silence.

She leant over and kissed him deeply, then merely smirked down at him. "Thank you."

"Go to work."

She pushed herself away from him. "See you later."

"Hmm ... sooner than you think. I forgot to mention, after the ... excitement ... of last night, I've been summoned to talk about my progress, with some minor Ministry paper pusher. You are to be there too."

"What?" Hermione was surprised at what she was hearing.

"You know they're monitoring me. They've chosen someone who is so utterly out of touch he is still apparently unaware of our relationship. One of their odd little schemes to get "the full picture" - ask someone unprejudiced about us being together. Francis Trimblewort. Have you heard of him?"

Hermione giggled slightly at the name. "No. I can't remember anyone mentioning this to me."

"They were probably unsure how you would react. It's only supposed to take fifteen minutes. They probably saw you had a free slot in your diary and will tell you this morning."

"What time?"

"Eleven."

Hermione smiled down at him. The more time they could spend together, the better. "Oh well. I'll see you then then." One more kiss and she left swiftly, her body still glowing from the sudden orgasm he had just given her.

Hermione bounded into the Ministry, so happy after the previous night and the morning that she felt someone had performed a levitating spell on her. And she would see Lucius again in a couple of hours as well.

She breezed past Priscilla, offering her a dazzling smile, and was even remarkably pleasant to Ormus when he came to give her some parchments.

"I didn't realise we were at Hogwarts at the same time, Ormus."

"Yes. I was three years above you."

"Goodness. I can't remember you at all!" The jibe was not lost on either of them.

"Oh ... I remember you."

"Well ... I did manage to ... draw attention to myself." She spoke more meekly this time.

He paused slightly, then said thoughtfully. "You were extraordinary. Even then."

She smiled up at him, embarrassed, but appreciative. She should not be so hard on him. "Thank you, Ormus." She spoke gently and sincerely.

He drew in a breath, then mentioned formally, "Has Priscilla told you about your meeting with Francis Trimblewort today?"

"Not yet, I've hardly given her the chance, but Lucius ..." She stopped, knowing how he would not want to think of them together. "I ... found out about it earlier."

He nodded solemnly. "Good ... See you later then."

She smiled as he left her office, then easily turned her attention to her paperwork, wishing time to pass as unobtrusively as possible until eleven o'clock.

At ten minutes to, she hurried out to Priscilla. "Where will I find Mr Francis Trimblewort?" She exaggerated the silliness of his name, causing them both to giggle.

"He's somewhere on the fourth floor I think. He's a funny little man. Have fun!"

"Oh, I'm sure I will!" Hermione started to go, calling after her, "If Lucius comes here, tell him I've already gone up."

Priscilla smiled after her, slightly jealous of her happiness.

Hermione found Trimblewort's office relatively easily. Lucius was standing outside. On seeing him, she had to force herself not to run along the corridor and fling herself into his arms. She remembered that Trimblewort was unaware of their relationship, and wished it to remain so.

She walked up to him, a broad smile on her face.

"Mr Malfoy. So nice of you to come today."

"I think you'll find it was you who came today, Miss Granger."

"Deary me. We had better remedy that situation as soon as possible then, hadn't we?"

"I look forward to it with great anticipation." He smirked deliciously down at her before raising his hand to knock on the door.

A wobbly voice from within called softly, "Come in!"

Lucius opened the door for her, raising his arm to usher her in before him. He followed her swiftly in. They were met by the sight of a short, portly wizard sitting at a desk strewn with parchments and quills. He had an open, round, moonlike face, topped lightly with fuzzy over-long hair, which stuck up at odd angles, making it appear as if he had just electrocuted himself. Perched on his nose were a pair of round spectacles, which he peered dimly through, scrunching up his button like nose in the process.

"Ah! Miss Granger. Mr Malfoy. Very good to see you. Very good indeed. Come in. Come in. Yes. Do sit down. Aah! I see I shall have to ..." He got up and bustled over to the chairs he had indicated to them. They too were covered in parchments and on top of one of the piles sat an owl, dozing quietly. Trimblewort bustled over and quickly shooed the owl off. It roused itself indignantly and fluttered up to a perch behind the desk. Trimblewort removed the piles of parchment, mumbling incoherently to himself as he did so. Piles of dust flew up, mingling with the other detritus already filling the atmosphere of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, which heaved under the weight of lengthy tomes, crammed onto every surface.

It reminded Hermione of some of the studies of the more eccentric professors at Hogwarts. Trimblewort himself seemed mad but pleasant and Hermione immediately warmed to him. She sat down, noting that Lucius took a little longer, muttering a cleansing charm, before lowering himself tentatively into the chair.

"Right. Here we are then. Now, I'm sure you know why you are here. Mr Malfoy, as you know, you have been undergoing a programme of ... how shall we put it ... reformation ..." he giggled slightly, nervously, "and the Minister has requested that different officials interview you to ascertain how you are ... uhh ... progressing ... So, here we are." He looked rather sheepishly across at Lucius, who had an expression of utter disdain on his face.

Hermione felt sorry for Trimblewort and quickly spoke. "Yes, we are aware of that. That's fine, Mr Trimblewort, please carry on."

"Ah ... yes, good ... thank you, Miss Trencher ..."

"Granger," she corrected, as delicately as she could.

"Granger ... Miss Granger ... so sorry, of course. Right, where were we then ...?" He scrabbled around on his desk, trying to find a specific parchment. It took a while. Hermione and Lucius glanced at each other, Hermione biting her lip to suppress a giggle, Lucius raising an eyebrow in bored displeasure.

"I was told that you in particular, Miss Granger, were not informed of this meeting until today?"

"That is correct."

"Oh ... it is fortuitous, then, that you were able to find the time to get here, was it not?" Trimblewort spoke innocently.

"Oh, it was not a problem. My diary was free and ..." she was speaking when Lucius suddenly interrupted her.

"Yes, it was most agreeable that Miss Granger could come so unexpectedly this morning."

She turned to him, immediately aware of what he was doing. She looked sharply at him, surely they could not torment this poor man like this? But one look at her lover, so proud and beautiful next to her, drove her righteousness out and she succumbed to his little game. God, he drove her wild in so many ways. How could she resist? She spoke, a sensuous drawl to her voice, that only Lucius could pick up on.

"Yes, thank you for dealing with me so swiftly, Mr Malfoy. I am only sorry that I did not have the time to accommodate you more fully before we had to come here. But I'm sure next time I will be better prepared. I will personally ensure that you come earlier too."

"I have every confidence that you will, Miss Granger. Sometimes I just need to be taken in hand."

Trimblewort let out a strange nervous chuckle, completely missing the innuendo and unsure why they had suddenly become so verbose. He spoke, "It has been no easy task illuminating Mr Malfoy in the ways of Muggles, I'm sure, Miss Granger."

She smiled sweetly at him, her own audacity merely stoking her bravado. "That is true. Mr Malfoy has presented me with an enormous challenge, but I have found myself able to deal with it in a variety of ways that has left us both most satisfied."

"Yes. I have certainly risen to the challenges set by Miss Granger on many occasions."

Trimblewort nodded vigorously and turned to Lucius, burbling out his next words, "Mr Malfoy, despite your ... uhhh ... colourful past, I have always found your company engaging and your conversation dynamic and stimulating. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Granger?"

"Oh yes, most stimulating - many delights trip off Mr Malfoy's tongue." She turned to Lucius and gave him a tantalising smile.

Lucius continued without skipping a beat, "Aah, but I must commend Miss Granger in that respect too - her oral skills are now more agile and developed than ever before. That mouth which was so familiar to us all with its often childish emotional outbursts and hot-headed diatribe is now used to great effect to achieve quite staggering results."

Hermione took a moment to glare at him, but he continued unashamedly.

"And Miss Granger has found time for much stimulation in a wide range of places. Many times we simply stay in her office, for hours sometimes ... sitting, standing, reclining ... sorting out all those issues ... but at other times we have ventured further afield to see what the world has to offer." He turned to look at her, his eyes glazing briefly amid his constant flow of innuendo. Hermione returned his gaze intensely. "It's amazing what beauty you can discover in the strangest of places." There was a moment of solemn silence, before Trimblewort continued to splutter.

"Good, good. So you have engaged in a variety of different Muggle experiences?"

Lucius quickly regained his former roguish tone. "Oh yes, I think we have both been only too happy to try new things. We have both had experiences previously unknown to either of us and have derived great satisfaction and enlightenment from them. One can never tell where you will next find pleasure. I think we have surprised ourselves at times, haven't we, Miss Granger?"

"Hmm ... It has not always been easy, sometimes one could even say it has been painful, but even those experiences are deeply rewarding, wouldn't you agree Mr Malfoy?"

"Indeed, as long as one is open and receptive, it is amazing what the benefits can be."

Trimblewort was nodding in avid agreement. "How lovely ... So, all in all, everyone's satisfied."

"That is certainly one way of putting it," Lucius drawled languidly.

Trimblewort seemed more than happy and did not wish to prolong it. He thanked them for their time and they left his office. Once outside, Hermione hurried down the corridor, and turned into a secluded side passage. She stuffed her fingers into her mouth, trying to stifle the laughter bubbling out of her. Lucius caught up with her. He looked down, raising an eyebrow in mock innocence, before drawling, "What?"

She glared playfully up at him. "You know what. That poor man! He was so sweet and we were dreadful to him!"

"He had no idea. And anyway, he could interpret those answers as he wished, as indeed he did, and receive very satisfactory and truthful responses."

She leaned into him, playfully hitting him on the chest. "God, you are wicked."

"Hmm ... it has been noted before," he drawled.

She smirked up again, "And completely irresistible."

He returned her smirk, reaching down and kissing her so sensuously she thought she would pass out. Her desire was immediately burning and she ran her hands over his body, groaning into his mouth, but footsteps along the corridor brought her to her senses and she pulled away. He did not stop looking at her, his eyes flaming. He entwined his fingers in hers and pulled her away. Several people saw their encircled hands as they walked along, but neither of them cared at all.

Lucius had to leave, and Hermione needed to return to her office, but before they parted she suddenly remembered the invitation Priscilla had given her the day before.

"Oh god! I nearly forgot. Shacklebolt's hosting a formal reception on Friday to mark four years as Minister for Magic. I'm invited with 'guest'. Are you up for it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "My dear, surely you know by now ... I am always up for it."

She shot him a half-hearted glare. "Stop it. We've had enough of that for one day." Her expression changed to a smirk. "Seriously, though. It would be our first official outing in public as a couple. Do you think we should?"

He looked serious, and Hermione thought he would refuse to go. She lowered her head, disappointed, but then she felt his strong fingers under her chin, lifting her head to look at him again.

"Why not?" he smiled down at her, then reached down to plant a tender kiss on her lips in full view of everyone in the atrium. He raised himself up and moved as if to leave, then stopped and looked haughtily down at her again. "There is one condition."

"What?" She was nervous.

"You wear that exquisite red dress you wore to the opera that night."

She smiled up. "Anything you want."

He grinned, drawling languidly,"See you this evening," and turned and disappeared into a fireplace.

Hermione stood staring after him for a while, her skin burning and the ache in her belly twisting. She would have to wait until later to appease it. With a deep sigh she shook herself out of her reverie and returned to work.

Luckily the remainder of the day passed easily. Hermione found she had been recommended for extra duties in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement due to her exceptional mind and abilities. It was reassuring to know that, despite all the turmoil of recent weeks, she was still highly in favour at the Ministry.

At the end of the day she apparated to the Manor, still only managing to arrive on the doorstep, but so happy to get there quickly that it did not bother her at all, neither did the dizziness which accompanied her arrival. She rang the doorbell, reminded that others, including Draco, had chosen to knock instead – it seemed curious to her – it must be a man thing.

Tibby opened the door quickly to her and she stepped in, greeting the elf happily. Lucius had emerged to stand in the hallway, smiling as she entered. She waited for Tibby to leave then rushed over to him, breathing his being as deeply into her as she could. He led her through to the sitting room, saying nothing and immediately handing her a glass of wine. She sank into the sofa and took a long sip.

"God, that's better. I'm weary. I shouldn't drink too much actually. I've got a headache – too much work and apparating."

He said nothing, but reached over to her, placing his hand tenderly but firmly on her head and spreading his fingers out, so that each tip exerted equal pressure on her scalp. She wondered what on earth he was doing, but said nothing when she noticed his eyes closed and his mouth moving in a silent incantation. Immediately a warmth filled her mind, flowing through it. Then Hermione felt all the tension and ache which had aggravated her being pulled out. Her mind cleared as if a fog had been lifted, and she felt refreshed but still remarkably relaxed, glowing. She stared at him.

He slowly opened his eyes, smiling mysteriously and drawling, "Better?"

She returned a gentle smile, "Yes. Thank you."

They sat contentedly for a while, but his close proximity to her stirred her desire rapidly. She remembered how she had felt when they had parted earlier, and she suddenly felt the flame within reignite. She turned to look at him. He seemed to sense her change in mood and his breathing became rapid, his eyes dancing.

She put down her wine glass and suddenly twisted round, throwing her leg over him and sitting in his lap. She looked down at him, feeling power coursing through her. She leaned down and licked over his lips, parting them with her tongue then probing into his hot wetness. He captured her tongue rapidly and pulled it into him almost painfully. She tried to pull it back but found she could not. His hands came up to clasp her head hard to him, and he assaulted her mouth violently, opening her lips further with his teeth and thrusting his tongue deep in, brutally. Again, she tried to pull back but was prevented by his strength. She was aware at how quickly he had taken the control back from her, but the somersault in her belly and the dampness spreading into her pants prevented any regret on her part.

When at last he pulled her hair back forcefully to part them, she saw in his eyes such undiluted lust that she cried out, partially from the pain to her scalp, but also due to his desire transmitting itself immediately to her. He spoke, his voice a low sensuous growl.

"Take me in your mouth - down."

His words alone were enough to send a twist of pleasure jerking through her belly. She drew in a sudden breath, but did not move. She waited for him to speak again, knowing how his voice affected her.

"_I said_, I want those delicious, wet, hot, mouth, lips and tongue on me now."

His voice poured into her ears, so arrogant, cold and smooth it was almost like having his tongue on her clit. Her insides again flipped. She decided to experiment. She refused to move down, instead staring intently back at him.

"I would advise you to comply. You know I don't like to be kept waiting." Voice like ice and honey. Her head fell back.

"Keep talking to me," she managed to groan out.

He raised an eyebrow with detached curiosity, but knew what she was doing.

"You know what I want. I don't want words from that exquisite mouth of yours. I want it sucking, licking, taking me, deep, deep down your throat. I want to hear you gasping for me."

She moaned into the room. He wasn't even touching her. "I'll gasp for you."

He reached down to her hips and gripped them hard. Hermione sucked in the deepest breath, feeling his nails digging into her flesh. He hissed his next words out, "Do it, witch!"

She nearly came.

Just a little more.

He clasped harder. It hurt.

"You're hurting me."

"You haven't complained before." The haughtiest drawl.

Her belly lurched. "I'm not complaining now."

So close. He brought his hands up to her shoulder and pulled her down, his mouth a mere breath away.

"What are you? What are you that you let someone treat you like this? Hurt you, ravage you, use you over and over," a purr into her ear.

"You know what I am."

"Oh ... yes ..." a deep slow hiss. Muscles tensing – nearly, nearly ...

His mouth was at her ear, his next words unravelled like an unending thread of silk, "You're mine. I've made sure of that. I have fucked you so hard and so full that you will never want anyone else as long as you live."

She moaned. Her body was so tense, her belly jerked with agonised pleasure, a flood poured from between her legs. "Yes," she groaned out to him.

He spoke one final time, his words like fire and ice straight onto her clit. "You are my ... delicious ... tight ... dripping ... hot ... exquisite... dirty ... _Mudblood!_"

She came. It was soft and gentle, like a release of butterflies in her stomach, but it was there, and it was sublime. She gasped in, with the exquisite, tender pleasure of it, unable to open her eyes for ages afterwards.

She remained above him, panting, then eventually looked down in wonder. "You made me come ... you didn't really even touch me ... how did you ... how did you do that?"

He merely smiled up at her. "The power of words, my darling." Pause. "Now finish what I asked for."

She could deny him no longer, had no wish to. She slid off his lap onto the floor to kneel in front of him.

He did not move. Slowly she reached up to undo his trousers and release him. His rigid member immediately lurched out, staggering her once again with its size and urgency. Her desire to taste him flooded her senses. She felt him tense above her, expectant. She smiled up at him slightly, enjoying the power once more in her grasp.

Then waiting no longer, she opened her mouth and moved slowly down over him, taking him as deep as she could immediately. He groaned with such agonised pleasure it sent a jolt of emotion through her body. She was completely relaxed and she pushed her head further down, until she had taken his whole length into her, feeling his tip far down her throat. She did not move, merely held him there, clenching her throat muscles around him slightly. She rolled her eyes up to look at him. His eyes were glazed but he was forcing himself to gaze at the sight before him. She inhaled as much as she could through her nose, but it was not enough, and she knew she would have to release him. As slowly as she could she dragged her lips back up over him, letting her tongue drift over him as she went, catching the tip as he popped out. When finally her mouth was free again, she gasped in loud and long, filling her lungs with much needed air. She had held him in her for so long, that her body craved more and she panted heavily, only now aware of how she had starved herself of oxygen.

But instantly her body heaved at the loss of him, and looking at him so erect and vibrant before her, she did not hesitate to plunge her mouth immediately back down onto him, tasting and swirling her tongue over him more this time as he descended to the back of her throat once again. An even more desperate sound was torn from him, and this time he could not prevent his hand from reaching up to clasp her head, twisting her hair between his fingers. Again, he was fully in her, but this time his hand held her there. She glanced up, his face had taken on a new determination as well as a hazy look of lust and awe. Her lungs started to ache and she tried to move her head up, but his hand tightened and he held her there. The slight panic this caused, combined with her deep desire, caused her belly to jolt.

She wanted desperately to please him and managed, despite the discomfort she was now experiencing, to tighten her throat muscles around him. She felt his pre-cum dripping down her and another guttural moan sounded from him. She held his gaze, her eyes watering, her lungs crying out. Only then did he pull her back, controlling the speed deliberately slowly. When she at last was off him, the air rushed back into her lungs with a deep gasping heave. She remained there, panting heavily, not taking her eyes from his, while she recovered. His eyes, although burning with lust, had a controlling arrogance in them which unnerved, but did not surprise her, and merely drove her on to please him more.

His hand still held her hair and once again he pushed her down onto him, this time however, he was not so forceful and allowed her to run her lips and tongue up and down over him. Her head moved increasingly rapidly, and when she felt him close she lowered her head fully one final time, clasping her lips onto him as she went. Her throat squeezed him hard while her hand came up to grip his sac. She felt him swell yet further in her and his whole body tensed, his fingers pulling her hair painfully tight. Then his cock spasmed uncontrollably in her mouth and throat, she did not even attempt to hold him still. An unearthly cry rent itself from his very soul and his head threw itself back. He continued to convulse into her, his seed shooting out over and over again, almost choking her.

When at last his spasms subsided, and she felt him soften a little, she relaxed her tight hold on him and released him slowly and gently, knowing how tender he would be. She swallowed him hard into her, and his eyes glazed yet further. Then she rose and sat beside him on the sofa, laying her head on his chest. He drew his arm around her but said nothing.

There was nothing that could be said.

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**Nope ...**

**Let me know what you thought if you are brave enough!!! I won't blame you if you don't!**

**Advance warning - it is highly unlikely that I will be able to update tomorrow. I haven't even started on the next chapter yet. Sorry - but PROMISE to update on Friday!!**


	48. Forty Eight: Value

**Here's Forty Eight!**

**This one turned out slightly differently to how I anticipated, I had thought I would be further along, but it contains some necessary, and hopefully interesting developments. I enjoyed inventing and writing a different character, which you will see, but equally, there are some tender moments between H and L. **

**Thanks for the reviews, all you lovely people! x**

**Onwards ...**

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Forty Eight - Value

As they lay in bed that night, Hermione's mind replayed the events of the day. It had gone by in a strangely erotic blur. She had never believed her life would be so fuelled by such physical and sexual passion, but she did not stop to question it. Far from it exclusively dominating her existence, it had acted as a catalyst to a new exploration of life as a whole. In addition to the overwhelming pleasure it gave her in itself, it also seemed to have awakened her mind and soul, and she found herself living and experiencing and delighting in things as she never had before. She turned to the man who had realized this for her and planted a tender kiss on his chest.

He breathed in, a deep, satisfied breath. "Where is this reception to be held?"

"The Minister's official residence."

"Impressive. I haven't been there for a while."

"It can't be nicer than here."

"Hmm ... it is in scope, not in taste."

She smiled wryly at his dry arrogance.

The Minister for Magic lived in a huge mansion at the far end of Diagon Alley. From the outside it looked rather unassuming, rather like the Muggle Prime Minister's residence, 10 Downing Street, and similar to that, although on an even more exceptional scale due to magic, it opened up into a seemingly unendingly palatial home with countless large reception rooms, hallways, staircases and corridors. It even magically concealed large, landscaped gardens at the back.

She nestled against him. "I'm looking forward to it. I want to show people how we are as a couple. But ..."

"But ...?"

She let out a slight sigh. "Well, I hadn't told you, and I should imagine you've probably guessed anyway, but there will be some people there who aren't too keen on us being together."

"I assume you refer to Messrs Weasley and Potter?"

"Yes, amongst others."

"Go on."

"Well, Arthur and Molly Weasley may be there too. I think I'm more worried about them than anyone. At least I've seen Ron and Harry since ... you and me."

"It does not worry me, if that's what concerns you. Any antagonistic reaction will be a sign of their own inadequacies rather than any faults on our part. Besides, they are unlikely to do or say anything rash in the presence of Shacklebolt."

"You are being remarkably sensible about all this. You haven't seen Molly Weasley when she's angry."

He raised his eyebrow. "There you are wrong. This is the woman who killed my sister-in-law, one of the most feared witches on the planet."

Hermione recoiled at the sudden memory of the battle, and Lucius' voicing of it. In all their time together, and amidst all their soul-searching discussions, they had never spoken about the battle or the days leading up to it. Hermione tensed on him slightly. It was something that still needed to be faced. He sensed her change and his hand came up to soothe her skin, stroking gently. The moment passed. It would not be faced now. Lucius also acknowledged this by changing the subject deftly.

"Have you brought that dress here?"

"Yes. I managed to get all my stuff from the flat by object apparition the other day. Most of it's in a store room downstairs that Tibby showed me. It was surprising how little I had in the end. A lot of my favourite things are still at my parents' home. Strange ... it was almost as if my life was on hold while I was with Ron. I didn't accumulate anything of any value or merit."

He continued to stroke languidly and sensuously up and down her arm.

She looked up at him slightly.

"Why do you want me to wear that dress so much?"

He didn't reply immediately, then spoke contemplatively. "You were wearing that the night I realised fully that you were what I wanted, what I needed. You were there, in my arms, giving yourself to me so completely. And ... there was too much beauty, too much goodness ... I couldn't face up to it, couldn't cope ...I hurt you, pushed you away ... deliberately ... I lost you that night ... and now I have you ... and I'm not going to lose you again. If you wear that dress it will eradicate my failings of that time." He looked down into her eyes, his burning into her soul, she had forgotten how to breathe. "Plus," he continued. "It makes your arse look incredible."

She smiled, grateful for some respite from the searing emotion.

With that he rolled onto her and plunged straight in, deep and hard. It took her by surprise. She had not realised he was aroused and his size and rigidity staggered her yet again. She gasped with mild discomfort. He paused, stroking her face, granting her a moment to adjust to the feel of him within. She did not need long, her passion for him swiftly igniting, her juices quickly coating him. He felt her relax and moved a little, immediately noticing how smoothly he could now do so. He built up a regular rhythm, never once taking his eyes from hers. Despite all the incredible erotic tension and pleasure that had existed between them all day, not until now had he entered her.

His movement was firm yet tender. He coaxed and stroked them both towards release. One hand held her face while the other reached down between them, managing to catch the inflamed bud between her legs just enough. She clenched her muscles as hard as she could around him, drawing a long groan from his depths. Their eyes were still joined, as sensual as their bodies' conjunction. It took only a few more urgent thrusts before they came together, crying their mutual pleasure out tenderly into the encroaching night.

They fell asleep, Lucius still buried deep within her.

The next morning they had gone their separate ways reluctantly, but necessarily. Hermione had arranged several weeks before to take the afternoon off, and at two o'clock she found herself back at the Manor. When she had free time from work, she normally spent it with her friends or parents, but today she wanted to be back at the only place she felt truly satisfied. She knew Lucius would not be there, he had business to attend to himself, but she sat for a while outside, looking out over the gardens, breathing in the ripe air of late summer and noting the change in the colours.

At length she got up and returned to the house. She walked upstairs to get something and remembered the attic Lucius had mentioned, and how she could explore up there if she wanted. She quickly turned and reached the staircase. Looking up at it, a slight nervousness gripped her. Did she really want to go digging around in the Malfoys' past? She may not like what she found.

Breathing deeply and summoning her fortitude, she ascended the stairs, which creaked as she placed a hesitant foot on each one.

She opened the door at the top. Another creak. The handle was dusty. It was clear no one had been up here for an age. She had half-assumed Tibby had her room up here, but that was clearly not the case. She tentatively poked her head through the door and found it opened onto a narrow landing, with doors leading off. The walls had faded floral wallpaper on, peeling and torn, and the bare floorboards were uneven and thick with dust. It seemed to Hermione that she was looking at an old sepia photograph. She took some steps forward and dared to open the door nearest her. Inside was a small, barren room with the remnants of an old bed and broken chair, nothing else. A small window let in a meagre amount of light which illuminated the dust Hermione had stirred up on opening the door.

She quickly closed it and moved along. The next room was a similar story, and the next. These were clearly the old servants' quarters. Judging by the size of the beds, the Malfoys must have had human servants at one point, a luxury reserved for only the most eminent and wealthy wizards. Hermione eventually got to the end of the corridor, where she came to another door, smaller than the others.

She turned the handle and pushed. Nothing happened at first, but she ascertained that it wasn't locked, just resistant to opening after many years of being ignored. She pushed harder and the door suddenly burst open. She nearly fell into the room beyond. It was a vast attic space, crammed with assorted objects.

One or two dormer windows tried to let in a small amount of light, but the odds and ends were piled so high, that they prevented any light that was trying to get in from doing so. Hermione withdrew her wand, muttering, "Lumos," and was relieved when a bright white light flooded out over the things before her. At first she was disappointed to see that Lucius had in fact been correct – it was filled with rubbish: broken plates, faded lampshades, pieces of furniture. There were a few books which caught Hermione's attention, but even they seemed dull and worthless.

Hermione sighed disconsolately. She had hoped at least to find some old photographs or family journals, but there seemed to be nothing in the attic to hold her there. She headed for the door, but just then something in the far corner, tucked behind some boxes, caught her attention. She recognised what it was immediately and hurried over, her heart leaping. Moving back the boxes, she revealed the hard, solid case of a musical instrument.

Hesitantly, her fingers reached for the clasp, although it was already clear what she would hopefully find inside. The cold metal snapped open and she carefully opened the front of the case. She gasped in delight. There inside was a cello.

The varnish had worn off, and two of the strings had broken. It looked as if it had been sitting, unused and unloved for an age. The bow was resting beside it, and Hermione saw with relief that the body of the instrument itself was intact. She peered inside, but it was so faded, that any inscription that may have been there was impossible to read.

Hermione knew what she must do, and closing the clasp again, she pulled the case out carefully and moved it to the door. The dust it stirred up made her cough, and she had to stop to recover. She managed to carry on, getting it out of the door which she closed behind her, almost with relief, and brought it downstairs. She cleaned up the case as best she could, and, inspired by her discovery, immediately apparated with it to Diagon Alley.

She walked as purposefully as one could while carrying a heavy cumbersome musical instrument, to a small shop in a discreet part of the street. She looked up at it, recovering after lugging the cello along. "Sturgus Opplehurst and Son, Repairers and Restorers of Objects and Artefacts". She determinedly opened the door and went in. The bell sounded with a clang and Hermione found herself in an Aladdin's cave of a shop. Every shelf and surface was covered with machines and instruments, ticking, whirring, buzzing, spinning. It was bewildering but fascinating. Hermione could recognise virtually none of the extraordinary looking things she saw, but found herself staring at them with fascination. She bent to study one very carefully, a brass ring, within which was another smaller circle, and another and another. All of them were spinning rapidly around their own unique invisible axis, never touching, creating an extraordinary globe-like object of the deepest perpetual motion. Hermione could not take her eyes off it.

"May I help you?"

Hermione screamed, jumping up and clasping her hand to her chest.

She spun around to see a small, wizened man with a gaunt, pointed face staring intently at her. His long thin nose had a pince-nez carefully balanced on the end, although it seemed so far from his eyes, that Hermione wondered what good it could possibly do. The eyes in question were small and beady, and on closer inspection, Hermione noticed a bright sparkle in them which belied the man's otherwise sombre demeanour. He was completely bald on top, but he had a ring of long, scraggly hair growing half way down his head, which fell around his neck in a sort of curtain.

Once Hermione had recovered from his sudden, unexpected appearance beside her, she managed to speak. "Mr Opplehurst?"

"Correct."

"My name is Hermione Granger. I was wondering if you could help me with some restoration."

"I know who you are, Miss Granger. What is the object you wish me to look at?"

Hermione was surprised this strange little man knew who she was, but sometimes forgot how famous she, Harry and Ron were throughout the wizarding world, reaching even its most obscure inhabitants.

She turned and heaved the case in front of her.

"It's a cello."

"I can see that." Opplehurst grinned ghoulishly up at her, revealing sharp, pointed teeth.

Hermione took a step back, feeling foolish and unsettled by the odd man before her. Still, she was determined to do this and continued boldly. Bending down to undo the clasp, she spoke up to him. "It's been lying around for a long time, I think. I can't see any obvious cracks or damage to the woodwork, but it's clearly in need of some attention."

Opplehurst's eyes immediately flashed as she brought the instrument out of its case. He indicated for her to follow him further into the shop, which she did apprehensively. They came to a table, the only clear surface around, from which hung strange tools and implements on little hooks screwed into the edges.

She placed the cello carefully upon the table. Opplehurst took off his pince-nez and placed instead a magnifying lens around his eye. He examined the instrument silently and intently for several minutes, before removing the lens and turning to Hermione.

"We do not deal in Muggle oddities, especially musical instruments. What you have here, however, is an exception, which I would gladly love to restore. Unfortunately, I fear I could do little for it."

Hermione's face fell. "How do you mean?"

"I could use magic to mend its broken components and improve its appearance, but this instrument needs to be taken to an expert Muggle practitioner in such fields. Magic can only do so much in the case of something like this. This was made by Muggle hands, the best Muggle hands, and needs a Muggle craftsman to restore it to its full potential."

Hermione looked confused. Surely nothing was better than magic for mending anything? Opplehurst sensed her bewilderment.

"Miss Granger, do you not know what you have here?"

Hermione shook her head.

Opplehurst took a slight step towards her. "Miss Granger. This cello is a Stradivarius."

Hermione's mouth opened in astonishment. The stringed instruments of Antonio Stradivari, an 18th century Italian craftsman, were renowned throughout the world as the most perfect examples of their kind. Their sound had a legendary, mystical quality, thought to be impossible to reproduce. Only the best musicians were considered worthy of them. They were owned generally by incredibly wealthy patrons and institutions and 'loaned' to virtuosi to be custodians of, until they were passed on again. There were even fewer cellos than violins. They were worth millions. To find one in private, essentially non-musical hands, was unheard of.

Hermione was speechless. "Are you sure?" she managed to mumble out.

"Quite sure. There are lots of instruments inscribed with the name Stradivarius which are clearly fakes, and just as many quite good fakes, but I have no doubt that here you have the genuine article. I performed a quick revealing charm to ascertain its true provenance, and reading the inscription gives me no doubt as to who made this instrument. Not only that, but it was made in approximately 1719, at the height of Stradivari's powers. In Muggle values, and I daresay in Wizarding ones also, this instrument is priceless."

Hermione stood staring in awe at the cello before her. Her mind filled with questions. How long had Lucius had it? Had it been in his family for a while? Had he any idea how significant it was?

Opplehurst's voice dropped and he spoke with a sincerity which surprised Hermione. "Miss Granger. You must take this cello to the best Muggle instrument restorer, someone you can trust. It deserves the best, far more than I can give it."

She turned blearily to him. "Thank you. I will. I had no idea. I've only just found it."

"In Mr Malfoy's house?"

She looked at him in surprise, amazed he knew of her relationship, but equally impressed by his insight about where the instrument would have come from.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"A fortuitous guess." He shrugged slightly before fixing her with his eyes and speaking more ominously. "Malfoy Manor holds many secrets, Miss Granger."

She swallowed hard, suddenly wishing to leave the oppressive atmosphere. She picked up the cello, humbled by what she had in her hands, and with great care, replaced it in the case. She turned to Opplehurst, smiling as best she could at him. "Thank you so much again. I promise I will make sure this instrument is dealt with as it deserves. Goodbye, Mr Opplehurst."

"Goodbye, Miss Granger." He nodded slightly to her, but made no attempt to help her to the door. Hermione backed off and exited the shop, breathing in deeply once outside. Despite the amazing discovery she had made, the encounter with Sturgus Opplehurst had been an unsettling one.

She looked down at the instrument in her hand, and felt unworthy of even carrying it. She had no time to find a reputable, trustworthy muggle restorer now; she would have to wait until later. Sighing to herself, she turned into a quiet corner, intending to apparate home again. She hesitated slightly, suddenly worried that it might damage the instrument, but she realised it had done it no harm the first time, and short of taking the train or bus, which would take hours, there was no way of getting home which did not involve some sort of magical transportation. She withdrew her wand, and clutching the cello as tightly as she possibly could, she disappeared.

On returning to the Manor, she wondered briefly what to do with it. She decided to keep her discovery of it secret from Lucius for the time being, and hid it carefully in the store room along with her things from the flat. She would get it restored as soon as possible.

It was Thursday. A sense of apprehensive excitement stirred in Hermione's body about the next day. She was exhilarated at the prospect of being out in public amongst fellow wizards with Lucius. Somehow, she didn't feel as insecure about their relationship in the magical world. She knew this was partially because of the fearful respect he was held in, but also, she supposed, due to the respect she herself commanded. In the Muggle world, she was just another girl, her extraordinary achievements unknown to all, and certainly affording her no special favours. She felt much more confident amongst her fellow wizards and witches.

But in addition to the excitement, there was also anticipation. Hermione acknowledged, that despite the disappointment he must be feeling towards her, she was longing to see Harry again, and even Ginny, although she knew her animosity towards her would be great. And then there was the nervous, fearful anticipation of seeing Ron, Arthur and Molly. Still, it had to happen at some point, and, although it may be cowardly, at least she had the comforting bustle of a party to hide behind should she need to. She hoped that the Minister's Residence would be large enough for her to avoid much, if any, contact with the three of them.

After another tender, but intensely pleasurable evening in bed, Lucius and Hermione slept soundly until morning. She got ready quickly, willing the day to move on into evening. She kissed him deeply goodbye and left for work. The day passed, Hermione watching the clock. She had more work than usual for the end of the week and could not leave until just before six. Then she headed swiftly to the atrium and soon arrived in the fireplace of the sitting room at the Manor.

Lucius was already sitting with a drink. He smiled broadly when she appeared in front of him. She walked over, leaning down. He reached up quickly and pulled her head in to him, opening her mouth urgently and plundering it with his tongue, breathing deep. When he released his hold on her, she gasped down at him, surprised by his hunger. He was merely smiling gently up at her, his features not belying the desire he had just exhibited.

She returned the smile, and despite a desperate longing for more, tore herself up. "I'm going to have a shower and get ready."

"What time do we have to be there?"

"About eight o'clock, I think."

"I'll come and get ready in a moment."

She smiled down at him then left.

Hermione stood in the shower for a long time, allowing the hot water to play on her body. It soothed and calmed her after a long day, but the sensuous joy of the water coursing over her did nothing to assuage the throb in her core which had started as soon as she had seen Lucius. Still, she tried to ignore it as best she could. There was no real time to address it now, and she wanted to focus on looking her best for him.

She got out of the shower and returned to the bedroom. After covering her body in her favourite lotion, a deeply rich, sensual ointment, she sat down to do her hair. Hermione dried it carefully and used a grooming spell to tame it. It glistened and shone more than ever, and she piled the curls high on her head, pinning them with little jewelled clasps which glistened in the tumbling cascades like stars. She let a few curls fall around her face. She pulled on her stockings and underwear, enjoying the feel of them as they slid up her legs. Then she crossed to the wardrobe where she had hung the red dress and took it down. She stepped into it, zipping it up with magic. She looked at herself in the mirror. The material pushed her breasts up, so that each breath made them rise and fall. The silken material pulled in her waist and then caressed her hips so tightly she wondered how she had been able to move in it. She turned, allowing herself a glance at her rear end, giggling to herself as she remembered Lucius' comment of earlier. Yes, she was pleased with what she saw. She turned to the front again, and sighed deeply, running her hands over her body, remembering the last time she had worn the dress, how Lucius had soothed, excited and tormented her so. It seemed so long ago.

She went and sat again, applying her makeup. She never wore much, but allowed herself a little more tonight, highlighting her eyes and lips carefully. She finally finished it with some black strappy shoes, the absurdly high heels forcing her to move in an enticingly erotic manner. Then she rose one final time and stood in front of the long mirror again. That would do.

Just then in the mirror she noticed a dark shape behind her. She gasped in shock, but soon realised it was Lucius, standing in the doorway. He said nothing, but crossed to her, standing behind, looking over her shoulder at her reflection. Her breathing grew heavy, making her breasts heave up and down. He had a look of such tender astonishment in his eyes, she thought she would weep. Slowly he moved in behind her and moved his head down to her neck, his hot mouth breathing, caressing, rubbing along her flesh. She let her head fall back, allowing him better access. His hands came around her waist, pressing in hard, running along the material, feeling every inch of her tight body encased in the crimson silk. She gasped in, her body alight with desire. Her mind desperately tried to refocus, she knew she could not afford to disturb her immaculate preparations now. Lucius seemed to acknowledge this and with a great effort, pulled his mouth away from her neck. Instead he took her hand and with a gentle tug, led her out of the room and along the corridor.

They came to a door. Lucius muttered an unlocking charm and opened it. He pulled her in behind him, still not speaking.

Hermione found herself in a room she immediately felt completely at ease in. It was hung with a deep, rich blue, with pale yellow trim. There was a huge bed, hung in similar colours, some chairs and a dressing table. It was a feminine, tasteful room, but still had a warm comforting feel to it. She knew immediately it was his mother's room.

Lucius led her over to the dressing table and sat her down in front of it. He reached over to a dark wooden box, and once again incanting a charm, he opened it. Slowly he reached in and withdrew a necklace. Hermione could not prevent an audible breath being pulled into her. It was the most heavily jewelled, beautiful thing she had ever seen. It was large and ornate, in a silver setting, with hundreds of diamonds of all sizes forming flower patterns, tapering down to a single tear drop diamond, the size of the tip of her forefinger, in the middle.

Lucius was still silent but, holding the necklace in his hands, he crossed to behind Hermione and placed it round her neck. Its cold heaviness surprised and thrilled her as it fell onto her skin. He did the clasp up behind her neck, then moved back to the box to draw out some matching earrings, which he handed to Hermione to put on. Once she had done so, he moved away slightly, and they both looked at her reflection in the mirror. Hermione could hardly breathe.

After an age, Lucius spoke, his voice strangely detached. "It was my mother's."

Hermione did not think she could speak, and could only manage, "Yes."

There was a long silence again. Then at last he spoke once more. "It is perfect."

"Yes." She could not form another word.

"You are perfect."

Hermione closed her eyes, desperately willing herself not to cry or pass out.

He felt him take her hand, and she let him lead her out of the room. They returned to their bedroom, where Lucius got ready swiftly and silently. He wore his dress robes and let his hair out, allowing it to flow around him, which he rarely did these days. Hermione had seen many different dress robes in her day, but none so perfectly tailored to suit the person wearing them. They showed off his height and form to perfection, and she drew in a breath in appreciation. He glanced at her in the mirror, a slight smile on his face.

He allowed himself a slight, satisfied final look in the mirror then turned to her, saying nothing, but holding out his arm to her. She rose and took it, at last able to say what she had been trying to for the last few minutes. "Thank you."

He smiled down at her, then turned and led her out of the door.

Once downstairs, Hermione threw a black velvet cloak around her; the nights were growing chilly. Then she turned once again to him. Clasping her round the waist, he withdrew his wand and apparated them both to the official residence of the Minister for Magic.

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**I know you've been waiting to get to the reception - they're nearly there now - next chapter! (Should be able to upload tomorrow, but want to make sure I'm happy with it first - it's gonna be a heavy one!!)**

**Let me know what you think about this (relatively) smut free chapter!**

**x**


	49. Forty Nine: Reception

**Well, they finally got there - and boy is there a lot of people to see!! Some good, some ... not quite so good ...**

**Lots to deal with here ... more to come later ...**

**Thanks as ever for the reviews xxx**

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Forty Nine - Reception

Hermione and Lucius arrived outside the Minister for Magic's residence, her hands clinging onto his robes for support. When she recovered from the dizziness she found her knuckles had turned white from the grip and she slowly looked up to meet his gaze. His grey eyes were looking at her with an expression which mimicked the haughtiness that was so often present, but which she knew at this moment to be curious concern for her well-being. The moment was almost identical to their first meeting in Flourish and Blotts. The similarity took what little breath she had left after apparating away.

For a moment they remained motionless, staring deep into each other's souls, both aware of the significance of the moment. After an age, the corner of his mouth curled up in the slightest hint of a smirk and he drawled more languidly than ever, "Miss Granger, I would appreciate you relinquishing your grasp on my person. I would not want the material crushed."

He had used almost the identical words from that moment all those weeks ago, although it seemed like years. The heavy atmosphere around them dispersed, and she exhaled a laugh and rested her forehead on his chest. But still, she could not relax her fingers and swayed against him, breathing in that scent once again. At length she raised her head, and looked him once again deep in the eyes. "I'm not going to let go. You're mine. I will never let go of you."

He said nothing, but the corners of his mouth bent up even more and his hands came under her cloak to clasp her waist tight, stroking the material with his fingertips. She knew what he meant by it. His silent reciprocation of her words filled her with such warmth she knew she could now face the people inside with confidence and pride.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently.

She nodded, finally uncurling her fingers from his robes and letting them slip down his torso.

He once again offered her his arm. She slipped her hand through it and he rang the bell assuredly. The door magically swung open and with a final glance at each other, they stepped into the bright strident swarm of people.

Almost as soon as they were inside the crowds of elegantly dressed witches and wizards quietened and all turned to stare at them. Hermione and Lucius stood proudly, her arm firmly fixed in his. The people slowly resumed their chatter and turned away, no doubt to converse on the subject of who had just stepped into the house.

A serving wizard stepped forward to take Hermione's cloak and his outer robes. She could feel Lucius' eyes on her as her dress was revealed, and her skin tingled. As she handed over her cloak, she noticed Shacklebolt excusing himself from his conversation to make his way over to them.

He reached out to Hermione, holding her arms and leaning down to kiss her on both cheeks. "Hermione, my dear, thank you for coming. You look absolutely stunning." He turned to Lucius, the warm expression on his face frosting over. But he extended his hand. "Lucius." Hermione was pleased he had used his first name.

Lucius drew himself up and fixed his face into its usual impassive mask. His arm came slowly out and he and the Minister for Magic shook hands cautiously but firmly. "Minister," he drawled back.

Shacklebolt drew in a breath, visibly relaxing again. "Come through both of you. Have a drink. The gardens are still pleasant at this time of night, despite the autumn closing in. Feel free to explore them." With that he smiled, mostly at Hermione, and left them.

A man appeared almost immediately with a tray of drinks, and both Hermione and Lucius took a glass of champagne, making their way into the house. It was indeed an impressive building, with large proportions of Georgian elegance.

Hermione allowed her eyes to scan the room. There were several of her colleagues from the Ministry there, most of whom she did not particularly feel like conversing with. So far there was not a sign of Harry or any of the Weasleys.

Her eyes fell on the official they had been to see on Wednesday. "Oh look, there's Trimblewort!"

"Hmm ... he looks none the worse for his ... ordeal ... the other day," Lucius said with sardonic amusement.

"No ... I have to say, he really didn't have a clue." She smiled, rubbing her hand along his arm. Just then she felt a presence beside her and spun around. There, smiling in her usual enigmatic way, was Luna Lovegood. Hermione beamed and flung her arms around her old friend.

"Luna! I haven't seen you for ... God, it must be over a year! How are you? Oh, I've missed you. What have you been up to?"

"Oh, you know, this and that. I've been doing some research into phenomena detected at the summer and winter equinoxes. It's extraordinary really. Did you know that more wizarding babies are conceived at those times than any other? And I've travelled to the Arctic to investigate the behaviour of mythical creatures when exposed to the aurora. They often behave completely out of character, sometimes the most aggressive creatures becoming suddenly quite passive and tame." Luna's voice had its usual distant, dreamlike quality to it.

Hermione listened politely and with bewildered interest; it was good to hear Luna's hazy tones again. However, she was confused by Luna's ability to talk so normally (for her) in such close proximity to Lucius Malfoy, whose house she had been held prisoner in for many months. Hermione did not quite know what to do. Should she reintroduce them? That seemed fairly ludicrous. Just as she was struggling to come to a decision, Luna looked vaguely in Lucius' direction and said quite calmly, "Hello, Mr Malfoy. How are you?"

Hermione was startled and instinctively turned to see Lucius' reaction. He replied immediately and generously. "Very well, Miss Lovegood. And yourself?"

"Hmm ... fine. I haven't seen you since I was held captive in your house." Hermione's mouth dropped open in disbelief. Luna had spoken quite matter-of-factly. She may as well have said, "I haven't seen you since that picnic on the beach."

Lucius' mouth twitched into the merest hint of a curious smile. "No," he replied.

Luna noticed Hermione's look of amazement. "It was a long time ago, and anyway, I didn't really see Mr Malfoy at all in that time." She turned to Lucius. "You didn't like those people in your house did you, Mr Malfoy? Neither did the house. I could sense its reluctance and revulsion."

Lucius looked down at the curious witch in front of him, a look of wondering respect ghosting over his face. "You are very perceptive, Miss Lovegood."

Luna continued, an increasingly dreamy look on her face. "Hmm ... it was not a pleasant time, but it allowed me plenty of time to think, which is always worthwhile." She turned back to Lucius. "I hope the house has recovered?"

He continued to look at her quietly for a while, before answering, "It is progressing."

"That is good. It is an extraordinary house. Goodbye for now." With that she smiled curiously at them both and moved off.

Hermione looked up in amazement at Lucius. She knew Luna was different, but her complete acceptance of Lucius after what she had been through in his own home astounded even her.

Lucius was looking after Luna, then turned down to Hermione. "Extraordinary girl."

"Yes. A very generous spirit."

"Indeed."

Her conversation with Luna invigorated Hermione, and she and Lucius moved further into the house. She was surprised by the number of people who were more than happy to come and speak to them quite normally and freely, partially out of curiosity she supposed, but genuinely nevertheless. Lucius' conversation flowed easily, and she noted with pride that he was able to talk knowledgeably and intelligently on a wide range of topics.

They were in the middle of a conversation with the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, when Hermione glanced over his shoulder and saw Harry. Her heart leapt, but her broad smile faded almost immediately when the wizard beside Harry moved slightly to reveal someone else. It was Ron.

She suddenly felt a disconsolate chill spread over her at her proximity to both her past and present partners. She instinctively moved closer to Lucius and he looked down curiously at her as he felt her pressing against him. He followed her eyes over to where she was looking. If she had been looking up at him, she would have seen his features freeze belligerently as he saw the figure of Ronald Weasley on the other side of the large room.

The wizard they were talking to continued his verbal flow unremittingly, unaware of the distraction which had captured the attention of his companions. As she was looking, Harry glanced up and caught her eye. His face immediately tensed, but then he gave her a resigned smile. She managed one back, and excused herself from Lucius and the wizard, walking as swiftly as she could over to him. Luckily he stepped away from Ron, who had still not noticed her, and they met halfway across the room.

"Hermione." He greeted her warmly, but did not reach in to kiss and hug her as he would have done before. She felt a twinge of guilt and disappointment.

"Hello, Harry. How are you?"

"Good. Good thanks. And you?"

"I'm very well." She hesitated. "Is Ginny here?"

Harry looked around, more for something to do to move the stilted conversation along as anything. "Yeah, she's here somewhere. She's ... uhh ... around, yeah."

Hermione noted that he resisted saying, "She'll be pleased to see you," which in normal circumstances would have been the natural follow-up.

They stood awkwardly for a while. "How's work?" inquired Hermione.

"Fine. You?"

"Good." She nodded, a little too vigorously. "I don't see you around the Ministry much."

"No. Big building, isn't it?"

"Yeah." There was a silence. She spoke again. "You could always pop in if you're passing. My office is always open to you, Harry. You know that."

He hung his head. "I know. I know. I will." He looked up, a sudden new determination in his voice. "I will. How about coffee, maybe next week?"

She smiled. "I'd like that." A huge feeling of relief swept over Hermione, and Harry returned her smile, relief written on his face also. Just then Hermione felt something at her arm. Harry looked up and his smile faded. She smelt her lover's scent and glanced up at him behind her.

"Good evening, Potter." The arrogant drawl took Hermione back to Second Year. She swallowed.

"Hello, Lucius."

Lucius' eyebrows raised in haughty surprise on hearing his first name from the mouth of Harry Potter. Hermione could not help smiling. Harry always had been a confident sod. Still, she knew that deep down, not only was he challenging Lucius to let his guard down with him, he was also taking the first tentative steps towards a more tolerant acquaintance. Hermione's heart swelled with admiration and gratitude for her old friend.

Harry continued. "I hear you're back in with St Mungo's."

"News travels fast."

"Yeah, apparently they're quite cash-strapped at the moment. They obviously need a hefty injection of funds."

"Hmm ... they've asked me onto the Board as well, so it is not merely my financial assistance they are in need of."

"No, I'm sure your vast knowledge and superior expertise will be greatly appreciated in a bewildering array of matters." The sarcastic tone in Harry's voice threatened to topple the tenuous truce which had existed and Hermione quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension.

"Lucius! It's very hot in here, I could do with some air. Let's go and see the gardens before it gets too dark. Harry, it's so good to see you again." She fixed him with her eyes and spoke more intimately and genuinely, "Coffee, next week. I'll owl."

He nodded slightly at her, and Hermione pulled Lucius swiftly away from him. She realised they were heading straight for Ron, who seemed still not to have noticed her (thank god, Hermione thought, but typically unobservant too), and she turned swiftly to her right, virtually dragging Lucius along behind her. Her head was down and as she turned through a doorway she bumped into a witch dressed in flowing orange robes.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she spluttered apologetically.

"That's quite alright, goodness, what a bump!" came an all too familiar voice. The two witches looked up and realised who they were talking to for the first time. Molly Weasley's face drained of colour and life as she looked into the eyes of Hermione Granger.

There was a pregnant silence for the longest time. Hermione eventually mumbled as clearly as possible, "Hello, Molly."

She thought for a moment Molly would respond, but then Molly's eyes fell on the wizard standing behind Hermione and her face twisted into an expression of such utter hatred that Hermione feared she would take out her wand and curse Lucius on the spot.

Molly said not a word, but her whole body was so tensely coiled that the air almost bristled with the pressure. Her eyes were fixed on Lucius, and Hermione could hear her own heart beating desperately within her. Molly took a step forward. She glared up at Lucius and at last spoke, such fury in her voice, she may as well have been cursing him. "How dare you show your face here? Here? At the same gathering as my son? With ... _her?!_" She shot Hermione a stare of utter contempt; it was almost as if she had never known her. "Your ... your ... floozy!"

Hermione felt as if she had been stabbed. She struggled not to collapse.

She opened her mouth to speak. "Molly ... I'm sorry." The words were barely audible.

Molly's face burned. She stepped into Hermione, who thought she may even strike her. At that moment she felt as if she deserved it. The older witch stepped right up to her, her familiar comforting voice unrecognisable. "You ... have ruined his life. After all this time ... all you have been through together ... all he ... _we_ ... have done for you ... How could you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "How could you ... with ... _Lucius Malfoy_," she shot him a glare, "... a man who has personally tried to ruin our family ... You have ripped our hearts out, Hermione."

"Molly ... not now ..."

A gentle, familiar voice spoke behind Mrs Weasley, and a hand was placed on her shoulder. Hermione looked up in surprise. She had not previously noticed the wizard standing behind Molly. She looked into the kind brown eyes of Arthur Weasley. He lowered his gaze when their eyes met, but managed to mutter, "Hermione ... Lucius ..."

Molly spun round and shot her husband a glare. Arthur sighed in, rolling his eyes slightly.

His presence strengthened Hermione slightly. She was deeply moved by his ability to acknowledge Lucius, he, who more than anyone, had genuine reason not to. Then she heard a familiar smooth voice behind her, snaking out around them, bringing her back to her senses somewhat.

"Mrs. Weasley. Arthur."

He said no more, but his mere acknowledgement of them was enough to diffuse the electric atmosphere around them.

Hermione tried again. "Molly, Arthur. Things are different now. We have to move on. One day ... perhaps ... I hope we can come to an understanding. I will never forget all you have been to me."

Molly put her hand up sharply, tears welling in her eyes. "Don't speak another word. I never want to see you again."

Hermione inhaled a juddering breath, her own eyes filling rapidly.

Lucius placed his hand around her waist, and started to lead her away. "Hermione ... come, my dear."

He led her swiftly and calmly through the noisy crowds outside, walking with her to a secluded lower terrace of the garden, where he sat her on a long stone seat, supporting her with his arm.

She drew in deep, replenishing breaths through her nose, his presence managing to keep the tears at bay. He held her close, but said nothing, allowing her the time to recover in peace.

"Well, that went well didn't it!?" Hermione heaved out sarcastically.

"It could have been worse." Lucius said honestly.

Hermione looked at him. "She was so wounded, so ... disappointed." She shook her head in disbelief at the change in the dynamics between her and Ron's mother. "She ... she used to be like a surrogate mother to me, Lucius. I spent so many happy times in her home. We were so close, she must have thought ..."

"What?"

"Well, you know ... that I may ... give her grandchildren one day ... and now ..."

Lucius was silent. She knew the mention of children, with him or anyone else, was hardly a subject to discuss now. She groaned out, her head falling into her hands. She was grateful for his presence, but she could sense his uncertainty at how to deal with her.

"Shall I get you another drink?" He spoke unusually tentatively.

"No! ... Thank you." She paused, then started again. "And Arthur hardly helped. He's so nice it just makes my guilt a hundred times worse. I mean ... you and Arthur Weasley! You're hardly ideal drinking buddies are you!?" She let out a bitter ironic laugh.

He sighed slightly, then spoke, "My dear, you need perhaps to listen to a little of the advice you so frequently give me ... you said you could deal with complications."

She turned to him almost scornfully. "Yes, Lucius, I can ... and I will ... but right now it hurts, it just _hurts_, all right?" She lowered her head to her hands yet again.

He sat quietly beside her, unsure how to deal with her raw emotion. She stood up and moved away from him. "I'm going to the bathroom," she mumbled before heading back into the house.

Hermione moved frustratedly through the crowds, various people trying to stop her to chat as she made her way through them. She grinned and smiled as best she could before escaping to the cool marble and gilt refuge of the ladies'. She went into the toilet and shut the door, sitting for the longest time on the closed lid, trying to calm her turbulent emotions.

She breathed deeply. This was a wonderful event, a wonderful evening. She looked beautiful, she was wearing an amazing piece of jewellery and she was with a man she loved. She was not going to let an encounter with people she had anticipated a confrontation with spoil it for her. She realised she hadn't even seen Ginny yet. That would probably be next. She sighed, then got up and left the cubicle. She walked over to the basin and turned on the taps, letting the cool water flow over her hands. A cubicle behind her opened and a pretty young witch stepped out of it. Hermione's prediction had come true. It was Ginny Weasley.

Ginny hardly reacted, just came up to the basin next to Hermione and started to wash her hands. She spoke quite matter-of-factly, but flatly, "Hello, Hermione."

Hermione was relieved she had not blatantly ignored her, and returned her muted greeting, "Hello, Ginny." She paused, then said as sincerely as possible. "It's really good to see you."

Ginny sighed, meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You know it's still difficult for me to say the same thing, 'Mione."

"Of course," Hermione replied quietly, pleased nonetheless to hear Ginny using the diminutive form of her name. "Are you well?"

"As well as can be expected from having to be the emotional prop for half my family at the moment. My parents have left already. Apparently they ran into you and ... him." She continued washing her hands, glancing at Hermione's neck in the mirror. When she spoke again, her voice was still strangely void of discernible emotion. "That's a very expensive necklace you're wearing. Did he give it to you?"

Hermione felt guilty and embarrassed and saw herself flushing in the mirror. "I'm just borrowing it," she mumbled.

"Nice dress, too. I remember you describing a dress like that to me before. You were going to wear it that night we went to the opera - that do with the Muggles. Ron said you saw Lucius Malfoy that night." She paused, fixing Hermione with her eyes. "He thinks that's when it started." She ran her eyes coldly up and down Hermione. "Bit tasteless isn't it? Wearing that dress tonight? Knowing Ron may be here." Her voice had acquired an acidity which made Hermione close her eyes in shame. Still she continued, hard and clinical. "Do you remember that night you came round, after you'd left him? You wouldn't tell us who it was. Harry asked you if it was Draco ... You reacted so strangely to that." She paused, a cynically bitter smile on her face. "It all makes sense now."

Hermione could bear it no longer. She drew herself up and turned to face Ginny.

"Ginny. You love Harry. You know what it's like when you need someone, want someone so badly you think you cannot survive without them. You feel that they are an extra limb, an integral part of how you exist. And when you're together, you are complete, you can't ever imagine being apart ... And when you're away from them, all you can think about is returning to them, becoming whole again ... That's how I feel with Lucius. I know how hard it is to accept that it is him ... but it is. And he treats me so well ... so well, Ginny." She was emboldened, surprising herself by speaking his name in front of her. She reached over and clasped her friend's arms. Ginny looked surprised but did not pull back. "Those things I described ... I did not feel that with Ron ... I never did. I could not stay with him ... I did not love him ... not in that way ... I am sorry he is your brother. I am sorry I have hurt him ... I am sorry I have hurt _you_ ... But I could not live a lie."

The two women looked into each other's eyes. Ginny gradually dropped her head, her breathing deep. They neither moved nor spoke for an age. Eventually, Hermione slowly lowered her arms. As her fingers reached Ginny's hand, Ginny suddenly closed hers around them, paused, and squeezed slightly. Then letting go, she turned and left the bathroom.

Hermione stood for a moment, her head falling back as she allowed herself a brief moment of relief and hope. Then breathing deeply, she opened the door and went back to rejoin the party.

She went back out to the garden, pleased to find Lucius still on the seat, staring out into the now black night. She sat down beside him, taking hold of his hand. "Sorry to be so difficult. It's just ... very hard ... my past seems to be coming back and giving me a good hiding tonight." She sighed, then turned to him, smiling, "I knew it would be like this – it's just been a bit of an emotional onslaught. It's alright. I'm better now. Do you want to go back inside – you can get me that other drink?"

She leant in and kissed him lightly on the lips. He returned the kiss more passionately, then let his mouth travel down her neck, stopping on the necklace. "So beautiful ... so beautiful ..." His hands encircled her waist again, one running up and cupping her breast, squeezing and plying it with his fingers.

Her head fell back and a groan escaped her. "Lucius ... not here ... people may see ..."

"Does it matter?" He continued to torment her.

Her mind was clouding with lust. "No ... no ... don't stop ..."

He attacked her throat and breasts with renewed vigour. Hermione brought her hand down between his legs, feeling his rock hard urgency under her fingers. He groaned against her throat, biting down on the tender flesh slightly. She pulled in a sharp breath, urging him on.

Several loud slow hand claps suddenly sounded from near them. They pulled apart, looking around for the source of the noise. A drunken voice slurred out, "Don't stop on my account. I was just starting to enjoy the show." Hermione's eyes adjusted to a figure in the gloom, as Ron Weasley stepped unsteadily out of the shadows towards them.

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**Oh dear ... and things were just starting to look up.**

**Let me know your thoughts, as ever they are always insightful and greatly appreciated. X**


	50. Fifty: Burn

**Right - managed to get this to you by the end of the English day! I could have agonised over it for days, but saw no point - it is actually how I want it.**

**OK, tricky one this. I know some people will possibly have some issues with Ron here. Hopefully he is not too OOC, but equally I cannot make him too sympathetic as Hermione needs to be very clear about who she wants. The scene we start with is deliberately ambiguous - Lucius may be utterly devoted to Hermione, but he's still Lucius Malfoy! Nothing's straightforward. Still, I hope I've maintained the integrity of the character as I've developed him.**

**Then - warning!!! The smut scene which follows is intense to say the least. Please, please, please do not see it as more gratuitous smut (I hope none of my smut is entirely gratuitous, although I acknowledge that is debatable!), but this chapter in particular is highly important, and the scene reveals everything about the nature of their relationship basically. It is brutal, but necessary. I hope sincerely that is understood. !NB! Three days after writing what is above, I have amended this chapter slightly. I need people to think of 'transferring' rather than 'inflicting' - hope that makes sense!**

**Thanks as ever for reviews - I really do adore you all, and am not so fearful of this chapter knowing I have some great readers who understand where I am coming from! x**

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Fifty - Burn

Hermione moved away from Lucius, but did not stand up. She looked briefly at Ron, seeing immediately that he had had far too much to drink. She turned away.

"Ron, you're drunk."

He stood looking down at her, certainly far from sober, but still able to converse with understanding.

"Perhaps ... but ... _you_," he pointed a finger of a hand still holding a wine glass at her, "are no longer in a position to comment."

Ron walked slowly and slightly swervingly towards them. Still she did not move, and neither did Lucius, who had his head lowered, but was looking up at Ron through hooded lids.

"You look nice, 'Mione," Ron's voice was full of mock joviality. "I remember that dress. Wore it to the opera, didn't you? Good night that, wasn't it? Seem to remember you behaving a little strangely though." He had come within a few feet of them, and his head suddenly turned towards Lucius.

"Lucius! Me ol' mate! Didn't see you down there! Been a long time, Lucius. I haven't seen you properly since ... oohhhh ... since I was brutally imprisoned in your house. Happy times ... happy times!" his words came, slurred out, his mouth fixed in a sickening grin.

Hermione closed her eyes, despairing at the sarcastic drunken drawling of her ex-boyfriend. At last she stood up, and spoke firmly.

"Ron. Don't do this now. You've had far too much to drink. I'm sorry we had to meet like this, but we can't keep avoiding each other forever. There will be other times when our paths will cross. Please try to accept my life as it is now and move on, for your sake alone."

Ron turned to her, his eyes glazing as he met hers. "Don't interrupt me, 'Mione, I was just having a chat with Lucius here. We've got a lot to catch up on, haven't we, mate?"

Lucius did not dignify his embarrassing ramblings with a response. Ron took another step towards him.

"Wassa matter, Lucius? Cat got your tongue? Unusual for you that. Must be 'Mione's influence. Can't get a bloody word in edgeways when she's around."

"Ron, please ..."

He turned to Hermione more aggressively.

"I said, _don't interrupt me_ ... _Hermione_."

His tone of voice had suddenly turned cold and spiteful and just as suddenly Lucius stood up and stepped into him. "I suggest, Mr Weasley, that you return to the house and find someone who will be able to accompany you home. You are clearly not in a position to be responsible for yourself."

Ron faced Lucius, a sudden look of such venomous hatred on his face that Hermione felt dizzy.

"Don't you fucking presume to tell me what to do, Malfoy. I'm still fully aware of what's going on here, who you are, and where we are ... a long way from the house. You're not the only powerful wizard round here, you know."

Lucius remained completely calm. "I would advise against threatening me, Mr Weasley."

The fire in Ron's eyes flashed. "Or what? One false move from you, even a little tiny one, and they'll throw you into Azkaban for the rest of your living days, and then some." He stepped closer to him. "Go on, Malfoy ... what you gonna do?"

A terrible silence descended. The two wizards stood a mere foot apart, their bodies tensed, rigid, both ready to strike with a moment's notice, but neither had yet reached for their wands.

Hermione had been frozen, transfixed with horror at the scene developing before her. Still, she realised that they were in a very dangerous position. If anything were to happen, they were sufficiently far from the house and shielded by trees and bushes for it to go unnoticed and unstopped. At last, she snapped herself out, and hurried up to them.

"Lucius! Come on, please, let's go now."

Lucius did not move, and she could hear his breathing deep and fast; his body remained tensed.

Hearing her use Lucius' first name was unbearable for Ron, who turned to Hermione, a mixture of grief and anger on his face. He looked at her for an age, his face changing into an expression of utter despair. "Hermione," his voice was heavy with anguished regret. Then he lifted his hand, as if reaching out to her. Her close proximity meant that his hand inadvertently brushed her arm.

Strong, pliant fingers suddenly closed around his wrist, gripping it so painfully his face twisted in agony. Lucius strengthened his hold and stepped even closer in to Ron, bending his arm brutally away from Hermione. He hissed, his voice low and cold, "_Don't – touch – her_."

"Lucius - let go of him," Hermione ordered calmly but forcefully.

Lucius ignored her.

Ron breathed heavily, still in pain, but hiding it as best he could. The agony seemed to be sobering him up. "That's right, Malfoy ... go on ... You see, 'Mione? Not so easy for a leopard to change its spots after all." He spoke mockingly.

At last, with a final painful twist, Lucius let go of his arm and started to walk away.

After a look of remorse at Ron, Hermione followed him. Ron stood rubbing his arm, then turned and spoke derisively after them. "That's the way, Malfoy ... running away from a fight ... it's becoming a habit."

Lucius stopped walking. He stared straight ahead, his body so tense, Hermione could feel the heat emanating from it. She was fearful, her heart racing, but the anger rising inexorably in Lucius transmitted itself somewhat to her, and she felt a surge of some strange force deep inside. She tried to ignore it. "Lucius, come with me. Walk away," she urged him softly. He hardly heard her.

Lucius turned swiftly and faced Ron. He spoke, his voice low and measured, but full of such latent malice it could have frozen the air between them. "What was that?"

"Running away, Malfoy, just at the critical moment. I remember so very well, you see. The final battle. _You_ ... when push came to shove ... too gutless to stand up for yourself. You gave up, Malfoy ... you fucking gave up!" He laughed spitefully.

Hermione's breathing deepened, but she was powerless to stop what was developing. A curious excitement was flowing through her. Not only did she feel unable to prevent it, she was not sure she wanted to.

She glanced up at Lucius. His face was fixed, the mask in place. He gave little emotion away, but Hermione saw in his eyes such anger, hatred and pain. She placed her hand on his arm. His muscles were rigid. She only ever felt them like that at the moments of their most intense sexual pleasure. She flexed her fingers on him slightly and drew in a deep breath.

It did nothing to prevent what was to come. Lucius started to walk slowly towards Ron, his pace so measured as to appear nonchalant. Again, his voice came, further chilling the air around them.

"I was looking – for my _son_."

"Your son?!" Ron snorted with derision, then turned away and half-mumbled, "Hardly worth it."

Lucius' wand was out almost before he'd finished his sentence, his nostrils flaring, eyes flashing. His arm was raised before him, ready.

The blood raced around Hermione's body, but she made no attempt to stop him.

Ron withdrew his wand slowly, a faint goading smile on his face. "Yeah ... that's better, Malfoy ... making up for it now then. Come on ... let's see what you've got ... I can't wait."

"I think you may regret that, Weasley." Lucius kept walking slowly towards Ron. "Move back, Hermione."

Hermione knew she should do something, try to stop them, but she was filled with such a thrilling longing to see what would happen that she found herself simply obeying him, and stepping away from the two men before her.

"Oh no," Ron continued. "I've been waiting for this for a long time. _Furnunculus!"_

A bolt of orange light shot from Ron's wand. Lucius flicked his wand briefly and instantly, almost drawling, _"Protego." _A faint blue wall of light appeared, dissolving the curse as it came towards him.

"_Sectumsempra!"_ Ron tried again.

With another wave of his wand, Lucius instantly dissolved the shaft of light. He kept walking slowly but deliberately towards Ron. "My my ... we are making up for lost time aren't we? But you'll have to do better than that, Weasley."

"_Locomotor mortis!"_ His spell fizzled out before it got within a foot of Lucius.

Ron's spells became increasingly desperate and defensive as Lucius approached him.

"_Petrificus totalus!_ ... _Levicorpus!_ ... _Incarcerous!"_

Lucius was not even bothering to raise his wand now. The blue light of the shield charm seemed to emanate from his body itself. Hermione looked on in wonder, a thrill coursing through her veins at the powerful sight of her lover bearing down on her ex-boyfriend. A far corner of her mind tried momentarily to tell her to rush over, stop him, pull him away, but she hardly noticed it.

Still Lucius walked closer and closer to Ron, whose face had taken on a look of panic. He tried one last time, desperately screaming the curse out.

_"Inflamarae saeculorum!"_

A flame of fire shot out from his wand, propelling itself towards Lucius with seemingly unstoppable force. In that instant Hermione was sure it would hit him. She cried out, but saw his left hand raised. The fire hit his palm and was prevented from going any further. Lucius stood, his hand held out before him, a look of utterly fierce determination on his face, his palm absorbing the flames shooting towards him. His features flickered. Hermione could tell it was agonising and exhausting, but her admiration for him burned ever stronger.

Ron was equally desperate at the other end of his wand, where the flames kept pouring out. The effort of it was at last too much and he collapsed onto the ground, panting with exhaustion. The flames at last stopped and Lucius lowered his hand. He exhaled deeply and let his head drop briefly, his face twinging.

He started the walk towards Ron yet again. Ron quickly stood up, hardly bothering to raise his wand now, but fixing his face and looking Lucius straight in the eye.

When he was a mere foot away from Ron, Lucius spoke, his voice retaining its laconic drawl. "You seem to have forgotten who I am, Mr Weasley. That was a particularly desperate little display, wasn't it? But may I suggest we bring it to an end now. Little boys who play with fire get their fingers burnt."

"Go to hell, Malfoy!"

Lucius smirked. "If that's the worse you can do, I have nothing to fear."

Hermione was rooted to the spot, transfixed by what she was seeing. She was too far from them now to hear what they were saying.

"You've got her fooled haven't you!? Nice cosy set-up, Malfoy? Bad blood will always out though. She doesn't know what she's let herself in for. So much for being intelligent! She makes me sick! You're welcome to her," Ron sneered.

Lucius' eyes narrowed momentarily. Ron looked to the older wizard's wand hand, thinking he may reach for it again, but Lucius remained still. Then inhaling deeply and drawing himself up, he turned away. Ron could not resist one final try.

"Just remember, Malfoy. When you're inside her, screwing her ... I was there first."

Lucius froze. A cold tension descended over his features and he slowly turned back to Ron, stepping in yet again, so that he was merely inches away.

He spoke softly and slowly, but his voice dripped with icy malice and hatred. "Ahh, but you see, Mr Weasley ... I have fucked her so hard, so long, and so full, that when she comes, screaming my name over and over and over again, branded by pleasure to me ... all memory of your pathetic, limp prick is banished forever." He looked at Ron, completely defeated before him. He raised his eyebrows to emphasise the point and allowed his mouth a slight satisfied smirk.

Then turning smoothly he once again started to walk away.

"You deserve each other. Take the stupid arrogant slut!"

Lucius Malfoy spun elegantly, his right fist clenched tightly, and he brought it swiftly up, making brutal contact with Ron's chin, then catching his nose.

Ron staggered slightly backwards, his eyes closed in giddiness, blood immediately issuing from his mouth and nose, then he fell to the ground with an ungainly thud.

Lucius stood over his pathetic form for a moment, then breathed in, adjusted his robes around him, turned and walked smoothly back to Hermione.

"Come." He walked ahead of her, pausing briefly for her to follow him.

Hermione glanced back at Ron, slowly picking himself up off the ground. He raised his head and looked at her, such animosity in his face she felt nausea wash over her. She turned to Lucius, his back to her, still, waiting. Again her head moved to Ron. Their eyes met again momentarily, and her soul heaved.

Then Hermione Granger turned and followed Lucius Malfoy out of the garden and away.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

After a brief word of thanks to Shacklebolt, which neither would later have any recollection of, Hermione and Lucius left the residence and walked out into the dark, deserted streets around Diagon Alley.

They walked swiftly and silently. Hermione could not fully process what had just happened and her reaction to it, but despite her mind telling her how wrong it all was, inside, she was feeling something altogether different.

The wizard beside her walked purposefully, his body still tensed and rigid from the experience, his aura diffusing into Hermione. Her skin was alight, the ball of tension deep inside was there; it could not be denied. It was that same feeling she had felt from the earliest days of their relationship; in Flourish and Blotts, at the opera, burning, burning. Now, it was how she had felt after the incident in the park, only much stronger, unquenchable, undeniable, desperate.

She grabbed his hand, her breath heaving, and pulled him into a side street, dark, damp, deserted.

"Lucius ... now ... you must ... _now_."

He looked down at her, the cold fire still burning in his eyes. This time he did not hesitate.

He hissed his words at her. "Turn around."

She did so immediately.

"Down. Hands and knees. Now."

Hermione knelt, her knees hitting the rough cobblestones hard, her hand slipping in a muddy puddle.

She was already panting in frantic need. The tension in her belly was causing her physical discomfort, so desperate was she for his touch, his fullness. "Hurry ... god ... _hurry_."

He said nothing, but she could hear him swiftly undoing his trousers. His hands ran briefly over her body, so tightly encased in red silk, then he gripped the hem and flung it over her backside. She heard a slight groan as she was revealed to him, then felt his hands tearing at her underwear. He held her hips hard, his fingers digging into her flesh brutally. He paused. Hermione thought she must be on fire, such was the sensation of longing coursing over and through her.

She cried, tears coming involuntarily to her eyes. "Please, _please_ ... _I beg you_ ... now, Lucius, _now!"_

With a guttural grunt of possession, he thrust, deep and forcefully. She was immediately jolted up the pavement, her knees grazing on the cobbles. She cried out. _At last_. It was as if they had never had intercourse before. She felt him inside her as if it was their first time, new, vital, unfamiliar.

"Yes! More, move ... _move_ ..."

Pulling back, he gripped her hips even more, then plunged in again to the hilt, once more making her hands and knees scrape against the stone ground. She did not notice. All she felt was him, deep, urgent, completing her.

He started to thrust regularly, building up a grinding rhythm which she responded to with an unending moan of deepest satisfaction. Apart from the occasional grunt of effort and his heavy breathing, Lucius was silent.

She clenched around him, feeling her muscles begin their gradual shift towards ultimate release. But then he stopped, as suddenly as he had initially plunged into her, and pulled out. He spoke.

"Can't stop ... _can't stop_ ... I need to ... _I need it_."

She knew what he meant, what she too needed. "Yes, yes, my darling. Do it ... _do it now_ ... _now!"_

Coated only in her own juices, he positioned himself quickly before her anus and thrust hard, the deepest groan torn from him. Hermione let out an agonised cry as pain ripped through her. There was no other lubrication and she thought she may pass out from the feel of him tearing into her, but still she focused on his iron cock and her need for it. She was in agony, but registered it only as sensation, sensation drawn out of her by this man who was her life, her existence. "Again ... _again_."

Inhaling deeply, he thrust harder yet, plunging further into her tightest passage. Another cry sounded from her. He quickly followed it up with another hard movement into her, finally filling her completely. She groaned at the feeling of him fully within her, burning her.

He bent down over her, his voice at her ear, his words poured like oil into her, dangerously soft, "Do you feel me? _Do you feel that?_" He moved desperately within. "Do you feel that pain? _Do you?"_ Another insistent thrust.

She gasped in ecstatic agony. "Yes! Yes, I feel you ... _I feel it_."

"Do you know what it is?" He plunged in again. "It is my pain ... It is _my_ _despair_ ... Feel it. _Feel it ... Take it." _His words, spoken with a velvet intensity, were like silk, encasing the stinging pain he was transferring to her physically.

She was weeping, not with the agony which burnt inside her so unremittingly, but with the revelation of who she was, who he was, why they were together. She knew it, she had always known it, but now, it scorched itself onto her, into her.

"Yes, Lucius, _yes_. Let me take your pain ... let me take your anguish ... Give me all you are, all you have been ... _I will take it._ I will absorb it ... _I will absorb it all_."

He let his head fall back and cried out into the dark night, his voice echoing around the buildings on either side. It was an outlandish noise, unlike anything Hermione had ever heard before.

Her body was alive with sensation, the pain radiating out from her core to her fingers and toes, but still she craved him within her, urged him to move. He started again, slowly but powerfully, deep inside her. He picked up the pace. She knew she was welded to him, fused through the burning, searing agony. Her mind no longer recognised the pain for what it was, and she merely _felt_ ... felt _him_ ... felt _alive_.

He continued to thrust hard, over and over. Then at last, he swelled within her and with a final agonising drive along her flaming walls, he came desperately and frantically, shooting up into her over and over. He cried out, his words her orgasm.

"Hermione! My life ... my salvation!"

Her world blinded on hearing it.

She stared straight ahead, gripping the cobbles under her. She felt his seed stinging badly; he had wounded her. She knew he needed to. She needed him to.

He collapsed on top of her, pressing her down into the cold, wet cobbles. They neither spoke nor moved for what seemed like hours. Hermione closed her eyes, feeling him slowly softening within her. Then his hand clasped around her and she felt the dizzy pull of apparition take her away.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

On arriving, she could not stand, her whole body stung badly, and she collapsed down onto the floor. She was lying on a rug of some sort, laid out on a marble floor. She heard water suddenly gushing. She forced her eyes to open one more time and finally ascertained that she was in her bathroom at Malfoy Manor. Her eyes closed again.

After a while, hands picked her carefully up. She managed to stand, supported by him, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her hair was matted and in disarray, her dress soiled with mud. Her hands hurt, and looking at them she saw angry red grazes on the palms. There was a cut on one. Her knees twinged and she hitched up her dress, wincing as she saw the blood trickling down them. She knew there would be blood from where he had entered her too; the stinging throb she felt there could not be denied.

Still supporting her, he took off her dress, so tenderly and carefully, with the softest touch of his fingers. The contrast to what she had just experienced with him could not have been greater. She noticed more bruises as her body was revealed, and she looked at them with a sense of curious wonder. He rolled down what was left of her stockings, taking off her shoes in the process. Then he bent down and picked her up in his arms, moving over, and placing her exquisitely gently in a warm, full bath.

The water immediately flowed over her ravaged body, soothing and caressing. She let out a sigh of utter abandonment. She looked down, little pink rivulets were snaking their way through the water from her wounds, mixing with murky clouds where the dirt was washing off. Lucius picked up a sponge, pouring a richly perfumed bath cream onto it. The scent of it immediately calmed and eased her aches; she supposed it must have some magical healing properties. Still, it did not take all the pain away. She did not want it to. She needed to feel it.

He took the sponge and slowly ran it, delicately, caressingly over her body, dabbing at her knees, running it over her hands then raising them to his lips to kiss and brush against them.

He spoke not a word. She closed her eyes and allowed him to continue his ministrations. The sponge, the aroma of the soap, his hands, all soothed, eased and stroked her agonised body, until she was lulled into an exhausted bliss.

She was only just aware of her body being lifted from the water, a warm towel drying her off, and then strong firm arms bearing her up, again, and placing her down. She turned into warm, soft, velvet, silk, downy, aromatic, sumptuous comfort. Just as her mind drifted into unconsciousness, she heard a voice in her ear whisper so low, so sublime, "Thank you."

* * *

**What can I say?**

**Maybe you could say some things if you have a moment ... as ever, thank you. x**

**NB - All of the spells are to be found in the books or films. I just adapted one - "Inflamarae saeculorum".**


	51. Fifty One: Open

**Hello! Firstly, apologies for not managing an update yesterday. And secondly, thank you for your kind, insightful reviews after the last chapter. I know it was a tough one in many respects. It was by far the most significant chapter of the story so far. Please realise, it was not really about sex at all, but about sacrifice, healing and salvation. **

**Phew.**

**Now, this chapter is just as significant, if not more ...**

**We are nearly at the end, but not quite.**

**I love ALL your comments and thoughts so much, keep them coming if you can, not long to go now.**

* * *

Fifty One - Open

Hermione slept a sleep of such depth and nourishment that she hardly moved all night, and on waking, had no awareness of the passage of time.

When the day finally roused her, she kept her eyes firmly shut for the longest time. Her mind did not replay the events of the previous night, they had no need to. She knew that what had transpired between her and Lucius was so profound that it did not require any more thought. She felt completely at peace.

She rolled over and stretched, expecting a deep ache across her body. It did not come. She was mildly surprised, and flexed her muscles again, focusing on her most tender passage. Still no pain. She roused herself more, and opened her eyes, rubbing them blearily then focusing on the hands in front of her. The scars she expected to see were visible, but much more faded than she would have thought, and caused no discomfort at all. She reached down to her knees, again expecting rough, tender grazing, but finding none. She raised one out of the covers. There were pink marks where her injuries had been, as if she had received them weeks before, but little else.

Her mind was still too numb after her sleep to allow her to think much more on it, and she continued to lie quietly, enjoying the smells and textures around her, listening to the noises outside. In the distance, a peacock cried.

She moved her hand to the side, feeling for Lucius. The bed beside her was empty and her heart panged with disappointment. Still, she instinctively knew it was late, and did not deny him the need to get on with the day.

Opening her eyes at last, she let them fall to the side. She smiled on seeing the necklace on the table beside her. She had no memory of it being taken off. Her eyes moved to the window. She looked out over the gardens to the hills beyond. Such beauty. She exhaled the longest breath of contentment. Then once more stretching, Hermione turned her head back into the room. She gasped in shock.

Lucius was sitting in a chair opposite the far end of the bed, quite still, staring at her.

"Are you feeling better?" His voice was calm and measured, almost detached.

She recovered slowly from the shock of seeing him there, holding her chest and breathing deeply.

"How long have you been there?"

"Since I woke up. About two hours."

"You surprised me."

"I am sorry. I did not intend to." He looked at her impassively, repeating his question calmly, "Are you feeling better?"

Hermione focused on his words, and her realisation of earlier now struck her forcefully.

"Yes ... yes ... it's remarkable really. There is hardly any pain at all. It is as if someone has performed a healing charm."

"Yes. Someone has."

She glanced at him curiously. "Who?"

"Me."

She exhaled in surprise. "I didn't know you were a healer."

"I am not. But I know a few healing charms ... I know a great deal." His words contained no arrogance, merely the truth.

"But ... but I needed your pain, needed to feel it. You needed to give it to me. I know. I understand it all now."

"Indeed ... But that moment has been accomplished ... There is no need to prolong your suffering. But still ... I sought your consent before administering the spell." His voice was strangely flat, almost empty, but still gentle.

She looked at him, confused. "My consent? ... But ... I was asleep. I have no memory of waking up."

"You did not."

"Then how ... ?"

"I entered your unconscious mind." His words were soft but direct.

Hermione could not speak for the shock. She stared at him, still sitting quite impassively before her.

At length she recovered enough to question him, an excitement coursing through her. "Are you a Legilimens?"

"The skill is not always present in me. It only comes to me at certain times."

"But ... to read someone's mind when they are not even awake ... that is nearly impossible."

"True ... it is extremely challenging. One needs a profound connection with the person whose mind one is trying to enter. It can only be mastered at times of the utmost concentration and focus, when the mind is completely primed for it."

"How could you do it now?"

He paused briefly before speaking, still quite calmly. "My powers are very great at the moment."

She continued, sensing his answer. "Why is that?"

He did not reply immediately, then his words flowed into her. "Because of you."

Hermione hardly breathed. But she understood.

A great curiosity suddenly took hold of her and she found herself asking, "Have you entered my mind before?"

"I would not do that without knowing the person wanted it, allowed it, first. Last night was an exception. I felt the need to seek your permission to soothe you, was greater than the need to seek your permission to ask."

"Thank you. I understand ... but, Lucius," she asked again, "_have_ you entered my mind before? Because ... there have been times ... moments, even very early on ... when you seemed to ... know my thoughts."

He merely looked at her. She waited. At length she was rewarded.

"Not intentionally. But ... there have been times when ... you have let your thoughts out to me."

Hermione lowered her head. "I know. I have felt it ... if that is the case, then ... I have done so freely."

"I would not presume otherwise."

They remained still for a while longer, simply looking at each other. At last he moved to raise himself from the chair. His hands pressed down on the sides to push himself up, and he immediately winced, pulling his left hand up abruptly.

"What is it?"

"It is nothing."

She remembered his confrontation with Ron, the way he had repelled the fire curse with his palm. It must have taken all his strength and power. "Let me see."

He was reluctant to move, but she looked at him with such determination in her eyes that he slowly made his way over and sat on the bed next to her. She reached out and brought his hand towards her, sucking in a breath when she saw it. It was raw, the outer layer of skin seared off.

"Lucius!" She looked up in horror. His face had regained its calm countenance. "Can we not heal this?"

"Not that. It is the result of great magic. There is no healing spell which can counteract that." He looked down at the expression of horrified concern on her face. "Do not be alarmed. Time will eventually heal it."

"You must at least let me bandage it."

He smiled tenderly at her. "If you wish."

She immediately summoned a bandage and, cleansing the wound with a charm, she carefully and tenderly dressed his hand, bringing it gently to her lips and kissing it when she was finished. "That's better." She spoke almost as a mother soothing her child.

"Yes," he said simply.

Lucius then stood, looked down at her and said plainly, "I am going downstairs."

Hermione returned his smile. "I'll be down soon." She lay back down. "Saturday! Heaven ..."

He turned to her, his face suddenly unreadable again. Hermione frowned in momentary bewilderment. His mood, although tender and honest, had been strangely detached all morning.

He raised himself from the bed and left the room, smoothly and silently. Hermione did not feel concern as such, so much had passed between them that his subdued behaviour was understandable, but she wondered what was going through his mind. Enough had been said the night before. No more was needed. They both acknowledged that. Hermione knew that his behaviour would be due to something else occupying his thoughts.

She sighed slightly, thinking over the conversation they had just had. The revelation that he had occasionally been able to read her mind was intriguing, even exciting, but she did not find herself surprised. Neither did she resent it happening. It seemed only to have happened when she had allowed it, or when the need to help her arose. Their connection and compatibility was indisputable. She was filled with a deep happiness.

Hermione at last rose, showering swiftly, noting once again how her wounds had healed so quickly, and got dressed.

As she was placing her top over her head her skin suddenly felt electrified and a prickly shiver ran its way along her body like a thousand insects crawling over her. The sensation seemed to come from the very air around her. She sucked in a sharp breath, anxiety gripping her mind, but almost immediately the feeling passed and was replaced instead by a profound calm and peace. She sat rapidly on the bed, her body unable to hold her up. She had no desire to move, and sat, listening to her own breathing, wondering about the strange occurrence which had just taken place.

After a while, she felt her strength returning to her, and with no repeat of the extraordinary incident, she wondered briefly if she had imagined it, and got up, pushing it to the back of her mind.

She brushed her hair, humming a tune to herself, completely contented once again. With one final confident look in the mirror she turned and left the room.

She skipped down the long wide staircase and turned into the hall.

Lucius was standing, his head lowered, before the door to the drawing room. It was open.

Hermione stopped dead. Immediately her heart seemed to be pulled from her and her mouth dried. And yet, even then, it was not with dread at what may be to come, but amazement at what he had chosen to do. She could do nothing but stare at him.

He slowly raised his head and looked at her.

"It is time."

His words came calmly, with the same detached quality he had exhibited all morning.

She slowly walked towards him, not looking yet at the open room to her right. "I don't understand." She spoke hesitantly. "You did not think even you could open it again. How did you ... ?"

"I told you ... my powers are very great at the moment."

"Did you just release the spell ... a few minutes ago?"

"Yes."

"I felt it."

"You would have done. I performed the release, but the house itself had to shake it off, with great effort."

There was a moment of silence. Lucius had lowered his head again, not meeting her eyes. Her mind allowed her a moment of concern. She had felt so at peace in the house of late. She knew it was starting to accept her. She had been prepared to confront the room for a while now, but now that the moment was before her, she hesitated. She remembered the first time she had seen Lucius again, the first time she had returned to the manor. Her strength had dissolved at those moments. Doubt swept over her. She had confronted so much already – vanquished so many demons. Lucius had enabled that. But could he now imbue her with strength one last time?

His own clear insecurity as he stood before her unnerved her. She ran her eyes over his body, so strong tall and vital but also so weak, uncertain at this moment. A sudden power seemed to flow through her and her resolve returned. She would realize it, for both of them. She inhaled deeply, feeling her body fired. At last, it was indeed time.

She took his right hand gently. "I am ready."

With that, he tightened the hold on her hand and walked slowly with her into the drawing room.

It had been almost completely stripped. There was no furniture, save for a desultory side table thick with dust. All the tapestries and paintings had been removed and even some of the original panelling had been torn from the walls. The shutters were closed and there was little light apart from where it tried desperately to force its way through some chinks in the wood, its thin shafts highlighting the dank air, thick with dust.

She continued to walk into the room after he had stopped, letting go of his hand. Hermione's footsteps echoed in the barren chamber and its very emptiness seeped into her.

The remembered pain that she feared may return did not materialise, perhaps because the room was unrecognisable from her feverish memories of that night. Instead, a profound feeling of desolation swept over her, not for herself, but for her surroundings, and for the life that had been extinguished from them.

She turned to look at him. He was standing quite still, staring straight ahead. He looked bereft; she had never seen him so vulnerable and alone.

She still half-expected the pain to return and waited for the screams, her screams, to pierce her consciousness once again, but they did not. Her calm emptiness disturbed her more than the room itself; she had been expecting a deeper reaction. The memories of that night were contained in emotion, in people, in sensation, not in material surroundings. She realised that now. There was to be no agony.

She crossed to him. He stepped away from her slightly. After their connection of last night, she found it curious. It was clear, as she had known that time she had angered him so, that being in this room was disturbing him far more than her. Yet she realised that it had taken what had happened last night to bring him to this moment. He had at last found the strength. She had given it to him. It was time to speak.

Her words sounded chill in the cold hollowness surrounding them, but she persisted.

"Do you ever wonder why I have never asked you about that night; the night we were in here?"

"I try not to _wonder_ about that night at all." His voice was stark and flat.

"I'm asking you now." She surprised herself with the clinical tone.

He remained stationary and silent for a long while and she simply waited, granting him the time.

At length, he sighed. A sigh from deep within, to summon the last ounce of strength he had.

"You must understand that the Dark Lord was very ..._ persuasive_."

He was silent again. She pressed him, not wishing to let the moment go.

"Why did you follow him to start with?" He had told her enough of his past, especially with regard to his father, for her to have formed a good idea herself, but she wanted to hear it directly from him. He took a long while before finally speaking, slowly, deep in his own thoughts.

"Originally, I knew no different. He spoke my language – the language of my father, the only language I knew. I never considered allegiance to such a powerful wizard, who stood so forcefully for blood supremacy, to be anything but a natural course for me to take. At last, I could feel power, command respect, everything I was supposed to be, everything I was told I should be.

"I found myself thinking less and less for myself, merely found myself carried along, clinging to this hope of elevation, of control ... never questioning." He smirked to himself. "Questioning! Why should I ever have done that? I hadn't done so for ... a long time.

"But then, I slipped."

"At the Department of Mysteries?" she questioned. He nodded briefly.

"I wasn't as strong as I was supposed to be. I disappointed him. I felt that power start to slip away and those feelings returned. _I wasn't good enough_. I had let him down. A sense of shame ... loss ... dread, filled me, but I was desperate to cling on. Even through ... Azkaban." His head dropped momentarily as remembered pain passed through him, but he continued. "I filled the emptiness with determination, _delusion_ ... He would win, I was sure of it. He had to, and I would redeem myself in his eyes, he would raise me to his right hand. I would do anything, _anything_ ... at last, _at last_ achieve what I was _destined_ for. He released me and I thought I was back, thought I had redeemed myself. But then, little by little, he started to chip away ... chip away at all I was.

"He came to this house. His people, if you can call them that, sweeping through, defacing objects, using our family home for their ... _needs_." A look of remembered disgust crossed his face. "And I said not a word ... I hardly noticed, so intent was I on pleasing him. But he noticed my subconscious reluctance ... oh yes... Slowly, but surely he stripped me of everything I had ... my house, my self-respect, my dignity, my wand ... my son ... I had nothing, but still refused to see it. I held on to the only thing I knew ... allegiance to him ... I must not disappoint him again.

"And then you were brought here, with ... your friends. The ones who had thwarted me before, signalled the start of my decline. If I could hand you over, Potter in particular, that would be it, I knew I would redeem myself in his eyes. I could think of nothing else, like an obsession. I remember feeling almost apart from myself, as if I was witnessing myself from beyond my body, but I couldn't stop. And Bellatrix ... her devotion to Voldemort was depraved, warped, she would stop at nothing ...

"And then you were here, in this room, and I stood, again, focused on my redemption, but at the same time, so detached ... almost as if I was in a dream. I saw my sister-in-law, her wand raised, screaming out her curse time and time again, and you ... crying out ... _you were in such pain_ ... I knew it ... I looked at Draco ... his face was staring ... he was utterly repulsed ... but he couldn't take his eyes off you ... beyond his look of horror, he was ... in awe ... in _awe_ of you ... and I realised I mirrored his expression, his feelings.

"You amazed me. I had never seen such bravery ... _so brave_ ... it was staggering. You gave nothing away ... you had more courage than any of us there ... any of us ... I stood there as you screamed into the room ... this room ... and I was _humbled_. I had not felt humility for ... I could not remember when. I looked again at Draco. Would he have had the strength to behave as you did? Had I endowed him with the qualities necessary to deal with it like you? ... _No_ ... He would have cracked almost immediately ... as would I. You had defeated us all. You, a _mudblood_, greater than all the purebloods there were. What a fool I was ... _What a pathetic, weak fool ... _My final failure – as a man and father."

His words touched her soul and Hermione longed to reach out to him, hold him, soothe him, but she held back, allowing him to continue.

"By then I was powerless, I could do nothing. I was completely empty. I hardly cared what happened to me. But for the sake of my wife and son I had to carry on. I told Draco to go and ask about the sword. I even thought it may distract Bellatrix from continuing her torture of you, but by then my own pathetic state did not allow me the fortitude to act decisively about anything.

"But then, in the haze of leaving the Manor and the battle at Hogwarts, I realised that although I had lost my dignity, my self-worth, my beliefs even, I would not lose my family ... my son. All else was forgotten and I could think of nothing, nothing except salvaging that one thing that I could still claim as mine ... And I owe that to you; my awakening and the life of my son."

He turned towards her and looked suddenly into her eyes. He was crying.

"I do not deserve you."

The tears fell hopelessly down Hermione's face too. They had already come so far. She had not expected more after last night. She thought it enough. Already, he had given himself to her, and she to him, but now, his frank baring of his soul shocked and humbled her; his verbal admittance, at last, of her role in Draco's survival, and his repentance. They stood immobile for some time, the profound silence of the room enveloping them both, but unable to look away from each other.

At length she stepped closer to him and reached up her hand, caressing his cheek, still wet with tears. He looked utterly bereft, and more completely human than ever before. It moved her beyond understanding.

"I am sorry." His words came softly, but with a profound sincerity. They caused Hermione to inhale sharply, as if a bolt had pierced her through. She struggled to remain composed, but held on.

Stepping into him, she encircled her arms around him and held him as close to her as she could, trying to impart her strength to him. They stayed like that, in the middle of the room, for the longest time.

Then eventually, she raised her head, and looked into his deep grey eyes, changed now from at any other time.

"Make love to me." She spoke gently.

He lowered his gaze, unable to bear her beauty and forgiveness.

"Lucius. Make love to me, please," she spoke softly and tenderly, her hand once more cupping his face.

"How can you ... ?"

"Shhh..." she placed her fingers gently on his lips.

He looked into her eyes once more and she gauged his acquiescence. He slowly lowered his hand and took hers, turning to lead them from the room. She held him back. He looked down at her, a query on his face. She spoke.

"In here."

He frowned slightly, concern and confusion written on his features. His eyes searched her face, taking in every detail, trying to fathom this woman, this woman who had opened his soul with her life force.

And again, he was drawn down to her, the pull between them impossible to deny. She had accepted him, believed in him, through all his vile depravity and failings. She had saved him. They could not part.

He met her mouth with his and they kissed more tenderly than ever before, his firm lips warmly rubbing over hers, caressing, massaging. After a time she parted them and slipped her tongue inside his mouth, tasting his warm sweetness; cinnamon, she noted again. His tongue flickered across hers, almost hesitantly, but as their mutual passion increased he found himself clasping her to him urgently, questing deeper, tasting, exploring.

It was so different to what had passed between them the night before, Hermione hardly recognised them as the same people. However, it was equally clear to her, that the reason they were here now, so tender, was namely because of what had then happened.

She reached for the clasp of his robes, and he simultaneously brought his hands up to pull her top up. They used no magic, had no wish to, but undressed each other slowly and carefully, languorously enjoying the flesh that was revealed little by little.

They stood, naked, leaning against each other, their warm firm bodies melting into each other, their clothes lying in a heap around them. She felt him pressed so hard against her and couldn't resist reaching down and brushing the tip with her fingers, then grasping him round the shaft. This was too much for him, and he lowered her to the floor with a groan, lying them atop their discarded robes. Almost immediately he spun her over, so she was on top, a sign of his acquiescence to her. She looked down at him, allowing him his submission for a while, knowing he needed it, after last night, and now, in this room. She leaned down and kissed him deeply again, rubbing herself torturously over his tip. His back arched and he groaned into her mouth.

Tearing herself away from his lips, she worked her way down his solid torso, pausing briefly to lick his nipples. He exhaled deeply and she continued her delicious progress down, finally reaching his iron-hard member, so beautiful before her. Her tongue reached out and touched the tip gently. Slowly, she lowered her lips down, taking him further and further into her. He moaned into the empty room. She raised and lowered her mouth, feeling him close. She resisted the urge to continue, and drew back, stopping and looking him deep in the eyes. "I want you on top of me."

He was taken aback and unsure if he could, the room shamefully suppressing his dominance. But, gazing into her eyes, her beauty and openness fired him, and her passion for him overwhelmed him.

He reached up to her lips and kissed her hard. She smiled against him and he clasped her firmly, spinning her round abruptly and positioning himself above her. He gazed down at her, his face fixed in an expression of wonder. Then slowly he lowered his head to her throat, planting hot, exquisite kisses on it then working ever downwards, stopping finally at her breast, and taking the nipple in his mouth. He sucked it urgently, his tongue drawing it up to a hard point. She thrust it further up towards him, but he abandoned it to the cool air and moved onto the other, repeating his ministrations. The ache in her belly intensified agonisingly and she longed for his touch at her tight centre. Her moans echoed through the room and he moved ever further down.

His lips brushed her lower belly and she arched up to him. Then he was there, his fingers at her soaking core, his mouth breathing on her, so close. She jerked involuntarily as she felt his tongue touch her folds. He licked up, towards her burning nub, and sucked it tenderly. She nearly exploded, but managed to focus back on his mouth and what it was doing to her. His lips encircled her bud, so inflamed, she could bear it no longer.

"Please ...Lucius ... _Oh god, please_ ... want you now ..._inside_ ..."

He obeyed her instantly and, raising himself up to her again, he positioned himself and thrust easily, deep inside her. She was so full. Groans of desperate satisfaction escaped from them both and filled the room. He drew back then thrust even harder, sinking deeper than before, catching her already engorged clit. She felt the clench in her belly and looked up at him. His eyes were fixed on her, burning down intensely. His tender passion touched something deep inside her soul and tears sprang to her eyes again. He lowered his body down against her, searching her face ever more urgently.

He began moving inside her again, quickening his pace slowly, but ever more fervently. She was so close and her head fell back, as the wave started to take her. He moaned at the sight of her before him. Their eyes locked and they suddenly, sublimely came together, her pulsing walls milking his release in hot bursts. Exquisite pleasure washed over them both, bearing them away from their surroundings, fused together. He groaned his fulfilment out from deep inside. A cry was ripped from Hermione's throat, a scream of perfect ecstasy which resounded into the room around them. A scream, but so unlike the ones torn from her in the same room so many years before.

They had banished the torment of the place forever, banished it from the room and from their souls.

He fell onto her, breathing hard against her. She held him tight, enjoying his heaviness pressing her down. Eventually he moved slightly, careful to remain inside her, but able to rest his head on her shoulder.

As his breathing slowed, he spoke, his voice so tender she hardly realised it was him.

"I love you."

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**X**


	52. Fifty Two: Contentment

**Apologies for not updating yesterday. That's probably the way it's going to be until I finish now. Time is just too limited! Also, I'm aware I've slipped behind on responses to reviews. I'm very sorry about that. I promise I will do so in the next day or so. Thank you, as ever, though for your wonderful reviews. They have inspired me to write once again, at a time when the story is winding down. I will not drag it out, but the words seem to be flowing relatively easily at the moment, and there are still some things to tie up. I'll let you know when we're on the penultimate chapter - but this isn't it!**

**I have also slightly amended Chapter 50. I know on the whole, it was well received, and I thank you for that, but rereading it myself in the context of the other chapters, I felt it was more brutal than I had intended. I have just changed Lucius' tone of voice slightly, and Hermione's words a little, not much. As I have said in the amended AN on that chapter, I very much want it to be about _transferring_ pain, rather than _inflicting_ it. I hope that now comes across a little more. Please let me know your opinions on that. I would greatly appreciate it.**

**Anyway, this is a tender chapter - which reminds me bizarrely of the Sound of Music!! You get bonus points for spotting which bit!!!! he he!**

**Enjoy! x Love, as always, LLx**

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Fifty Two - Contentment

Hermione lay on the floor of the drawing room, her breathing deep, partly from exertion, partly from the astonishment of hearing the words spoken by Lucius.

She could not respond, knew in fact, that she had no need to. She had not expected to hear them, although she could not deny she had wanted to for a long time now. But now they had finally come, in the circumstances they had, they seemed suddenly the most natural thing ever. The circle was at last complete and could now start turning properly.

Hermione let out a long breath and settled.

They lay there for a while longer, silent. Time passed them by. The morning wore on, and still they could not move from their positions on the floor of the drawing room, Lucius still inside Hermione.

It was only when Hermione felt a discomfort in her belly, a feeling that she at first could not identify, but then realised was a sensation that came several times a day, that she once again became aware of her existence.

Hermione at last allowed her body and mind to refocus on daily ritual. She released a small laugh which she stifled against Lucius' torso. He looked down at her quizzically. She raised herself slightly, looking up with a grin on her face. "I need the loo."

At first she thought his humour had deserted him, as he continued to look at her without a hint of discernible emotion on his face. His eyes however, were active, moving over her features, taking in every detail of her beguiling, expressive eyes, brows, mouth. Then at last his mouth broke into a wide smile, and kissing her lightly on the nose, he said, "Well ... you'd better go then."

He rolled off her with a slightly exaggerated groan, and Hermione quickly raised herself up, running to the door, the urgency of her situation suddenly pressing itself upon her. At the door, she turned, looked back into the room at Lucius still prone on the ground, and said, "Oh by the way ... I love you too."

With that she rushed to the toilet, not noticing the smile which took hold of his features and refused to leave them.

She wondered slightly if he would still be in there when she returned, but she found him at the window. He had opened the shutters, and light had flooded the room, highlighting its elegant proportions and beamed ceiling. She inhaled deeply, as if in tune with the room breathing again. "We will make it beautiful again."

"Yes," he mused, running his hands along the panelling that remained. "I shall speak to the estate carpenter tomorrow. This panelling needs to be restored immediately."

"I'd love to choose some curtains. Could I? There are some wonderful Muggle fabric shops I know. I could ..." She stopped, looking hesitantly at him. "There's one in Diagon Alley too. I'll go there."

He hardly noticed her switch. "No, go where you think best. There will be a much larger selection in Muggle London." He saw her looking at him curiously. "It doesn't take magic to make curtains, my dear. Even I know that."

She smiled at him. They walked round the room, examining the details, suggesting ways to decorate it, contentedly agreeing on most points.

They eventually left the room, as if it was simply another part of the house, as indeed it was. Neither even noted how quickly they had overcome the horror which had been associated with it before. They went and sat at a table on the terrace overlooking the garden, eating a lunch Tibby prepared as efficiently as ever.

An extraordinary calm had descended over them both. Hermione noticed the lines on tension which had always been present on Lucius' face had melted away, making him appear noticeably younger. He looked exquisitely beautiful. It took her breath away.

In the afternoon, they walked in the grounds, a heady autumn breeze catching and swirling the leaves around them. They held hands gently, like a courting couple enjoying each other's company for the first time. They stopped at a large pond, surrounded by trees, their leaves just starting to lose their verdant richness of summer, and take on the red and gold of September. The early fall beauty reflected in the quiet ripples of the water below.

Hermione sat on a bank, Lucius beside her.

"Do you know when I first fell in love with you?" Hermione startled herself with her question.

"I could hazard a guess, but I feel you will tell me anyway."

She smiled at him. "When you mended that girl's toy at the museum. It was the most beautiful moment. All the more beautiful, because it was you doing it."

He smiled wryly. He could not deny the incongruity of that moment, a former Death Eater exhibiting the most tender and sensitive behaviour. "That is a typically female observation."

"Well, in case you hadn't noticed ... I am female," she teased.

"Oh ..." he leaned in to kiss her gently. "I had noticed." She deepened the kiss, opening her mouth sensually and breathing into him, allowing his tongue to slip inside flicking, tasting. He pulled back slightly, but continued to sporadically dip in, kissing, nipping around her lips and cheeks while observing, "You didn't tell me at that point."

Between his kisses, she smiled. "No ... I didn't have the confidence to realise until ... later ..."

"Go on ..." He had moved down to her neck, his lips placing hot moist imprints on her downy skin.

"Do you remember when ...?"

"Yes ..." he drawled teasingly, "but I want to hear it from you."

She giggled slightly, his tongue licking languorously down to her collarbone. "It was ... when we ... when you ... first took me ... there ..." She could hardly speak, his mouth was becoming increasingly agile, causing her belly to flip and her knickers to grow damp.

"Hmm ..." he hummed against her tormented flesh. "It was indeed."

He had undone the buttons on her top, delighted to find she wasn't wearing a bra. He did not hurry his progress, and Hermione could not suppress a moan of longing from sounding from her. But still her mind niggled, and as he at last took a nipple into his hot, questing mouth, she forced herself, despite the delicious pleasure which was radiating out from the exquisite rock hard point, to ask him. "And you?"

"Me what?" his voice was muffled against her pillowy breast. His tongue laved. Another groan.

"When did you ...?" She gripped his head to her, but concentrated enough to finish the sentence, "... realise ... about me ... for the first time?"

At that he stopped, and raised his head from her breast to look her intensely in the eyes. Her nipple was left to the cool air, the wetness evaporating off it, but her mind burned with curiosity.

"Do you not know?" His voice was tender but serious.

She shook her head. "Maybe ... at the concert ... after the hearing ... I don't know ..."

He smiled enigmatically at her. It made her feel slightly nervous, foolish even. He raised his hands to her head, and penetrated her eyes with his soul.

"I fell completely and utterly in love with you from the very first moment you held onto me and looked up into my eyes."

She could hardly speak. "In Flourish and Blotts?"

"Yes ... you little fool ... of course."

She exhaled in wonder and lowered her head swiftly, a blush spreading across her cheeks.

He held her close and they remained like that for a while, then eventually he pulled back, looking down at her again with a smirk. "Now ... may I continue?"

She smiled, bringing him to her for a kiss and then guiding his head back down to her breast, her nipple grateful for the attention it was again receiving.

He was fervently tender, drawing each nipple in turn up to a point of such exquisite sensation, but never using his teeth. Unlike other times, it was enough for Hermione, the subtle pleasure coursing through her body to her core bringing a gasp of longing from her. She felt the bud between her legs throb and she moved her legs apart instinctively. Immediately his hand was there, questing, exploring, his fingers delicate, but nimble, agile. He slipped inside her underwear and found her soaking for him. He slid and glided over her folds, occasionally dipping into her, but then coaxing ever upwards to her burning nub.

Her head fell back, and his mouth returned to her neck, just where it joined her shoulder. He nipped, licked, sucked, as his fingers continued to stroke so exquisitely, building her pleasure gradually but surely. The fire in her core started to spread throughout her body. His ministrations had never been so tender, so delicate, so selfless. That awareness in itself made her flame.

His head moved slowly down, kissing over her flesh again. She thought he would stop once more at her breast, but he continued down, lowering himself further down the bank. She was already so close, that the thought of feeling his hot, wet mouth and tongue on her was unbearable. She groaned loudly and instinctively gripped his head, unable to resist pushing him down to her centre.

She looked down as the top of his blond head descended, anticipating the touch she longed for. He removed her underwear in one fluid motion, and raised her skirt above her hips. Her legs fell further apart to welcome him. And then she felt it; his tongue sliding up her folds, but just avoiding her engorged clit. She jerked up, holding his head to her. But then she let her hands fall away and simply gazed down at him instead. He was perfect. She knew he would do exactly what was needed whether she guided him or not.

She placed her hands on either side of her, and lay back, giving herself over to him entirely. His tongue had slipped inside her and was circling and swirling leisurely. Her clit throbbed angrily with the denial of what it had been expecting for a while. It had been ignored for a few moments now, and, after been so exquisitely coaxed to ripeness a while before, the anticipation of its release caused it to swell and burn more than Hermione thought possible.

Then at last Lucius slipped his tongue out of her and licked slowly but firmly up to the flaming nub. Hermione let out a mewl of expectation. His wet sweetness circled, enticed ... so close, so close. She sucked in a sharp breath which she could not release.

He withdrew his mouth momentarily then his tongue came out and perfectly touched the swollen knot of flesh. Her belly started to clench, spreading out to her muscles. Instantly he followed it by lowering his whole mouth onto her bud and sucking hungrily. Hermione fell spectacularly, with a cry starting deep, quiet, then building with ever-increasing intensity into a scream of his name. White light flashed behind her eyelids and her muscles melted in wave upon wave of rapture.

She was still holding her breath, and only after the last spasms had deserted her jubilant body did she pull air gaspingly back into her lungs. She could feel his mouth on her all the while, drinking her in.

It took her a while for her eyes to focus again, but when she did, she looked down to see him still between her legs, smirking deliciously up at her.

She let her head fall back, laughing deliriously. "You are a very, very bad boy indeed."

"Judging by your reaction, I'd say I was a very, very _good_ boy."

She laughed again. "Not to mention an arrogant sod."

He stood up, still smirking down at her. "Part of the attraction, I believe."

"You are unbelievable!" She stood up next to him. "Now, your turn ..." She started to undo his belt. His hand came up to stop her.

"It's alright. As much as I am bursting for you, for now, the taste of you is satisfaction enough."

She leaned into him slightly, breathing close, a seductively curious whisper, "What do I taste like?"

He paused, looking into her eyes. "The future."

She smiled at him in wonder. "As I've said before, Mr Malfoy ... many delights trip off your tongue."

He chuckled slightly, taking her hand and leading her back to the house.

The rest of the weekend passed with remarkable normality. Hermione cooked Sunday lunch, allowing Tibby to start the task of thoroughly cleaning the drawing room, which she was only too happy to do. Hermione made sure she cooked the beef rare, remembering how he had ordered his steak that first time in the restaurant. She smiled with satisfaction when she saw him consuming it with relish.

Their time together was of course punctuated with frequent bouts of love-making, all remarkably tender, but still as satisfying as ever. Lucius had not had to wait too long for Hermione to reciprocate his actions by the pond. Luckily, the stain on the sitting room carpet came out with a simple charm.

On Monday, they went their separate ways to work. Hermione left after Lucius for once, taking the cello with her. She had managed to find a reputable instrument restorer who she hoped would return the Strad to its former glory. During her lunch time she took a taxi to the shop and presented the instrument to the craftsman, a tall, haughty looking-man called Wilfred Bessamer. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets at what was laid before him.

"Madam, this is the most extraordinary thing to have ever been brought here. May I ask the provenance of this instrument?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much about that, I don't know myself. I will be able to find out more in future, but right now, I have little information about it. But, I presume it has been in the family of the person who owns it for many generations."

"And do you mind me asking who that person is?" His eyes moved over the cello with burning intensity.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. But, if it's any consolation, it's no-one you would have heard of."

"Not a great musician then?" He glanced up at her, clear disappointment present.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"What a shame. This instrument needs to be played, needs to live. Has this person ...?" he paused. "Your husband, is it?"

Hermione blushed and hung her head, "No, we're ... not married."

"Aah ..." Hermione could tell he was curious about her situation and how someone so young had come across a Stradivarius. She wondered briefly if he would suspect her of criminal activity, but he continued quite freely. "Has your partner considered lending it to an eminent musician? That is usually the case in situations such as these."

"I don't believe he has. But, I am hoping that he may play it himself once it is restored."

"Hmm. You did say he was not a great musician. Being in the hands of an amateur would be an insult to this instrument." Bessamer spoke condescendingly.

His discourteous words riled Hermione, but she managed not to let it show. She understood his point, although she did not like to think of Lucius as being an amateur at anything.

She responded assuredly, "I'm sure the person in question would be able to master anything if he was determined enough."

The man chuckled disdainfully. "My dear, the cello takes years to master, even to a relatively humble standard. To be accomplished enough to be worthy of this ..." His eyes fell on the instrument before him and he looked ruefully but longingly at it, not needing to finish his sentence.

"Oh, I'm sure he can find ways to ... facilitate the process." She smiled enigmatically.

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise, bewildered, but unable to inquire further.

"Anyway," she continued firmly, "will you be able to restore it?"

He exhaled in submission to the instrument before him and said genuinely, "It will be an honour. I will ensure this beautiful thing is given the best attention I and my team can give it, and I can assure you, that is quite something." He gave a self-satisfied chuckle.

Hermione had to fill out a mass of legal paperwork ensuring the cello's security, then reluctantly parted with it and headed for the door. As she reached it a thought occurred to her and she turned back to Bessamer.

"Oh, and ... we don't want any publicity. Please ensure this ... discovery ... remains a secret between you and me."

He gave her a curious look, but nodded in deference. With that she smiled at him and left.

Bessamer had said it would take several months to restore, but should be ready before Christmas. What a wonderful present that would be, she allowed herself to hope.

She returned to work and at the end of the day, tidied her desk to leave.

Hermione started to head for the atrium, but stopped. She was feeling alert enough, and didn't want to face the rush hour throng cramming into the fireplaces. She would apparate.

Standing in the middle of the room, she twirled her wand, twisting and disappearing with a pop.

She landed, her vision blurring, but managing to remain upright. When she was able to refocus it took her a while to realise where she was, so unbelievable was it. Hermione was standing in the middle of the hallway of Malfoy Manor. She laughed out in surprise and joy.

Lucius appeared almost instantly in the doorway of the sitting room, a look of equal surprise on his face. "Hello," he crooned happily to her.

She looked round at him, almost embarrassed. "I'm here!"

"It would appear that way." He walked over to embrace her.

"Isn't it wonderful?"

He leant down to kiss her deeply, then moved back, drawling, "Yes."

They went through to the sitting room, where Lucius poured them a drink. The fire was lit.

Lucius waved his wand over it. "I think it needs to give out a little more heat. The nights are definitely colder now." The fires they usually had in the evening, had been for decorative purposes only, and had magically been charmed so as not to allow any heat to dissipate into the room. As Lucius' wand moved over it now, Hermione felt the warmth immediately seeping into her.

"Hmm ... that's better. It's quite chilly for this time of year really ... what is it today ... September the 10th?" She paused suddenly. "Oh god! I nearly forgot! How strange ..." She quickly shut up, but remained thoughtful. Lucius eyed her curiously.

"What is it?"

"Well ..." She was embarrassed, not sure if things like that were important to him.

"Go on."

"Next week ... it's my birthday."

He raised his eyebrows. "Indeed? And I assume, that like my son this coming year, you will be twenty three?"

"Yes." She lowered her head, blushing. When said like that, the age difference between them seemed unnervingly apparent.

Lucius was silent for a while, then drawled, teasingly arrogantly, "My dear, you really are terribly good for my ego."

She thumped him.

He rubbed his arm. "Don't expect any presents if you're going to behave like that." A smile played upon his lips.

She snuggled into him. "I don't want anything. How could I? I've got everything I want right here."

His smile got bigger. "Hmm ... I'm sure we can think of a little something."

Hermione smiled, but her mind wandered momentarily. This would be the first birthday for ages that she would not spend with Ron or Harry and the others. A hollowness took hold of her stomach. She turned her head into Lucius and breathed deeply, filling her senses with his aroma. The feeling passed.

The next day Hermione went to work as usual. She found herself able to focus on her tasks with remarkable efficiency and ability at the moment, and could usually be seen with her head down over a complicated looking parchment, scribbling away furiously. It was just so that Harry Potter found her at eleven o'clock that morning.

He knocked tentatively. She did not notice. "Hello, Hermione."

Her head darted up. The widest smile broke across her face. "Harry!"

He stood in the doorway, but his face was calm, his posture relaxed. "So, I seem to remember you mentioning coffee. How about now?"

She could not stop grinning. "No time like the present." Hermione swiftly left her desk, threw on a light coat, and together they headed outside.

As they walked, Hermione was surprised to find them chatting happily, almost like old times. They talked trivialities, things of little consequence, but it did not matter. They were talking. They went to a little coffee shop on Diagon Alley, both ordering butterbeer. It reminded Hermione of happy days long past in Hogsmeade.

After a while, Harry reached into his pocket and withdrew a small wrapped present and card. Hermione lowered her head, shamed. She was incredibly touched. She had not remembered his birthday this year. "You didn't need to," she mumbled, tears pricking her eyes.

He handed it to her. "It's from me ... and Ginny."

"Thank you." She could hardly speak.

He sighed before continuing. "I'm sorry things have been so ... strained. I don't want it to go on like that, Hermione. Neither does Ginny. It's just been ... very difficult." They were both silent. Then he turned to her again. "But I am trying."

She smiled tenderly at him. "I know." Reaching across, she took his hand and squeezed. "Don't stop trying."

He returned her smile.

They drank their butterbeer in a contented silence. Then Hermione's concerned curiosity got the better of her. "How's Ron?"

"Uhh ... bit shaken up after Friday ... but ... he's alright now. To be honest, I think it helped him to realise he has to move on. But ... uhh ... I'm not entirely sure what happened."

Hermione sighed deeply.

"He was drunk. He came up to us. Unfortunately he'd seen us ... together ... you know ... and he started to behave really obnoxiously. Lucius tried not to react, but Ron kept goading him, about me, about Voldemort ... about Draco. But it was Ron who ... cursed him. Lucius just defended himself with the shield charm. Ron kept on and on ... but his spells just bounced off Lucius. In the end, Ron used the fire curse. I thought ... Lucius would be hurt so badly ... but ... it was amazing ... he was able to repel it completely."

"Well, he's very powerful."

"Yes." She felt a mixture of pride and embarrassment at Harry's acknowledgement.

"And what happened then?"

"I ... I don't know ... Lucius went over to Ron briefly ... then ..."

"I think Malfoy said something to him ... something ... unpleasant."

Hermione was vaguely curious, but found she did not mind. She knew who Lucius was, but also how he had been provoked. "I think they probably both did, Harry. It was a horrible situation. I'm not excusing Lucius, but Ron behaved appallingly."

"And then Malfoy floored him."

Hermione sighed. "Yes." She eventually looked at him. "Any lasting damage?"

Harry smiled ruefully. "Only pride. Funny isn't it? One of the strongest wizards in the world defeated in the end by fisticuffs!"

They both managed an embarrassed laugh.

"It was a very fine uppercut, actually." Her smile eventually faded and she looked intently at him. "Lucius is an amazing man, Harry. He makes me very happy."

Harry looked down, then nodded briefly. Then sighing again he slowly gathered his things. "I'm going to have to go. Happy birthday next week, 'Mione. I'm away, I'm afraid, but the week after that we must get together again."

She stood up, her heart brimming with happiness. "That will be brilliant. Goodbye for now, Harry. Thank you so much for the present. Do ... say thank you and hello to Ginny for me."

He nodded at her. "I will." Then leaning over, he held her arms and kissed her on the cheek. "Bye, 'Mione."

She smiled after him as he left, contentment once more sweeping through her.

After finishing her work for the day, she once more managed to apparate back to the hallway of the Manor, where she was immediately met by the smell of supper, a glass of idlelight, and strong arms.

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**Now what would _you_ like from Lucius as a birthday present ...? ;)**

**x Let me know your thoughts. x**


	53. Fifty Three: Gifts

**Hi! Thanks for the lovely reviews - will get back to you as soon as I can, but am desperately trying to tap this story out of my head. I keep thinking of new things that seem to work. However, I do want to wind it down. (I keep saying that, don't I!? One day you'll be able to believe me!) I think what I'll do is end it as I had intended, and then write a series of one shots, compatible with the two of them within the context of this story, but which will also stand alone. This is mainly to provide an outlet for the smut gland of my brain, which will not rest!!!**

**Yes - it was the "when did you first fall in love with me" bit that was the Sound of Music, although I don't think Maria had the Captain sucking on her tits at the time!!! (Oops - bit crude - so unlike me!) I had a thought though, even though noone could ever replace The Divine Mr Isaacs, Christopher Plummer would have made a damn fine Lucius if they'd made the movies in the 60's - same haughty impenetrable disdain!**

**There's also a small reference to some dialogue from another musical in this chapter - (basically I just rip off everyone else's work!) Bonus points again if you can spot it!**

**I know a lot of you are expecting a very specific present from Lucius for her birthday (a circular one that fits around her finger with a gem on top ...) but I have to say, I'm afraid that doesn't quite fit with how I envisage it at the moment - sorry!!!! I am a true romantic at heart, but ... Hermione will have to content herself with something else for her birthday. I'd be pretty happy to get what she gets! And there'll be more later too ... mwa ha ha ...!**

**This is quite a full chapter, with lots to think about, and a bit of fun near the end too (not in the way you may be thinking ... no, that fun is earlier in the chapter!!!) I enjoyed writing it - hope you enjoy reading it!**

**As ever, LL x**

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Fifty Three - Gifts

Time started to pass normally, between the Manor, work and visits to friends and her parents. Lucius never denied Hermione the opportunity to visit other people, something which surprised her a little. He had shown his possessive side with regard to Ron, but since the night of the Minister's reception, he seemed more relaxed than ever about her going out. So far she had been out without him to see her Muggle friends, and once to meet up with Luna, but she found, unlike her time with Ron, when she was only too happy to stay out dancing long after he had left, that she now preferred to return home early to Lucius.

For his part, Lucius rarely went out in the evening, although one or two wizards had visited the Manor, sometimes staying into the evening. They were pleasant enough, but normally acquainted with Lucius through business, and Hermione found their company formal and uninteresting, despite her ability to converse with anyone on a level which relaxed them.

One night, after Lucius' business acquaintance, Frederick Greengage, had left and they sat peacefully in the sitting room, she decided to question him.

"Would you call him a friend?"

She felt him smirk, almost laugh aloud. "No. Of course not."

"Why don't you invite some of your friends over for dinner? I'd like to meet them."

He was silent for a while. "What makes you think there is anyone I wish to ask over here?"

"You were renowned for your sociability. The parties at Malfoy Manor were famous."

"_Were_. You are fishing, Hermione." His voice was teasingly reproachful. "You know full well that that was all before."

She carried on fishing. "Before what?"

"Before the rise of the Dark Lord. Before the war ... Before the divorce."

"But you knew so many people. There were lots of people who clearly knew you well at the reception. There must be some who you are still in regular touch with. Things are different now. Of course they are. You have proved yourself. Why don't you ask them over?"

He sighed. "I choose my friends very carefully. There has been no one in recent times who has proved themselves worth the effort. Most of the so-called friends I had while I was still ... socially acceptable ... were mostly friends of Narcissa's. In any case, they were so ... superficial, so shallow. I think back and cannot believe I tolerated their presence as much as I did. I could never go back to that. I do not need anyone else. I have you."

She turned to fix him with her eyes. "Of course you do ... for as long as you want ... but ... you have so much to give ... you shouldn't hold onto it all. That surely is suffocating. There are lots of wonderful people out there, Lucius. If you give, then you will receive. You want to live, Lucius. Let me show you how ... completely. Don't shut people out."

He looked almost wounded. "I don't shut you out."

"No ... and we can go on like this forever, very happily, but ... I have friends out there, who would love you ... I know that ... I've seen that ... people are more able to forgive than you realise. Don't be afraid to allow them to do that. There are other people ... Harry, Ginny ... these are my friends, my closest friends, they will always be with me ... in some way, they are with you too."

He frowned at her, uncertain. It was an unfamiliar expression on his face. He lowered his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. "One cannot rush these things."

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm not asking you to do or rush anything, but ... I want you to know that, we can exist with other people, not just each other, no matter how insecure that makes us feel."

He looked at her curiously. "It is strange, do you not think. A few years ago, perhaps even a few months ago, if anyone had spoken to me like that, I would have had my wand at their neck instantly."

She returned his expression, her eyes coursing over his features, once again spellbound by the extraordinary man before her.

Then suddenly she spun around, raising her leg and flinging it over him, so she was sitting astride him. She said nothing and simply looked at him. Then lowering her head, she reached down inside his tunic until she found what she wanted. Slowly she withdrew the thin shaft of wood. He frowned in confusion, but allowed her to take his hand and wrap the fingers around his wand. She encircled his fingers with hers and slowly brought the wand up, clasped within both their hands, so that the tip rested just below her chin.

Neither spoke nor moved, but their breathing deepened and their eyes locked.

"And now, Lucius? What now?"

His eyes narrowed. She felt his arousal stirring between her legs, but his manner remained quite calm.

At length he spoke, his voice deliberate and measured. "You are an extraordinary woman."

She breathed heavily, not lowering the wand, the tip of which was now pressing into the tender skin beneath her jaw, tilting her head back slightly.

"You make me so," she replied, her voice low, heavy with desire and truth.

Maintaining eye contact, he spoke once again, smoothly but firmly, "You are so extraordinary, so exquisite ... that I do not wish to risk a return to that place ... that place they call Azkaban ... as it would mean an exile ... from you ... and that alone I could not cope with."

He slowly pulled the wand down, and she allowed it, letting her hand drop from around his. But he did not let go of his wand, and lowered his gaze to watch it. Hermione did not take his eyes from his face, but she felt a shift in her clothing. She looked down. Pointing his wand at her shirt, each button suddenly seemed to undo itself. The shirt parted, revealing her flesh beneath, clad only in a bra. Hermione could hardly breathe, the burn on her skin seeping through and igniting a deeper longing inside.

Lucius raised his eyes to look briefly at her, his expression impenetrable. It drove her mad, and her head fell back, a groan coiling out of her mouth. His wand flickered, and she felt the clasp of her bra unhitch behind her. As much as his magical undoing of her clothes incited her lust, she longed for his touch, and he instinctively indulged her, reaching up his hand, and slipping the shirt and bra off her shoulders. As he did so, he brushed his bandaged palm against her, and hissed in pain. Her eyes darted to him in alarm, but she instantly felt him swell between her legs. She moved against him, drawing a deep groan from his throat.

She shrugged off her clothes, and waited, her eyes closing once again in anticipation. And then she felt a sensation which she could not identify, a tingle, an electric shiver, pulsing into her nipples. She drew in a breath, unable to work out what was drawing the sensation out of her. The feeling intensified, until she knew each nipple was standing straight out, tight points of sensitivity, and the electricity flowed down to her very centre. She felt a flood between her legs and knew she could not contain her passivity for much longer.

She glanced down and the reason for her pleasure became apparent. Lucius' wand was hovering over her nipples, and Hermione knew immediately that the feeling she was experiencing was emanating from it. He raised his eyes to hers and at last allowed a smirk to caress his features. She returned it.

Extraordinarily, this was the first time they had ever used magic to enhance their pleasure, never had it been necessary. Somehow they had had an instinctive feeling that it would debase their connection. And now, only when they had opened to each other completely, in the most fundamentally human way, could they allow their true natures to complement their sexuality.

Lucius allowed the wand to move closer and the electric tingle increased. It was unbearable, transmitting straight to her throbbing clit. But even now, as delicious as the new sensation was, Hermione knew that nothing could replace the feel of his hands, mouth, cock on her, in her, and she threw her head back, her voice almost disembodied, "Enough! Touch me ... god, _touch me, Lucius_."

His smirk increased. "As you wish. I simply wanted you to know that this wand ..." he gave it a final flick, agonising her nipples again with a surge of sensation, "will only ever be used ... on you ... to worship and adore you."

With that, she leant down, plunging her tongue deeply into his mouth. She grabbed his hair, clenching her fingers into his head. She heard something drop, rattling onto the floor. It was his wand.

Hermione shifted back slightly, lowering her right hand, bringing it to his belt, undoing his buttons swiftly and releasing him through his clothing. She glanced down. His cock was arching up magnificently between their bodies, swaying slightly in anticipation. She could hold back no longer, and, raising her hips, she drew herself forward, stopping just over the tip. She rocked back and forth slightly, rubbing him along her dripping folds, and looked deep into his eyes, reading his lust in them. It was her turn to smirk, but she refused to lower herself, waiting for his reaction.

He gazed at her, his mouth slack, his eyes glazing, and she heard from him, barely audible, "Please ..."

She wondered if she had misheard. Never had he begged her before. She lowered her head towards him, not taking her eyes from his, until he was only a breath away from her. Then, mimicking the arrogant drawl he so often employed with her, she said, "What was that?"

He could only groan in response. She knew it was a supreme effort for him to rein in his lust, his fire, his temper. After what he had just said, she was testing him. That word, so delicious, so unfamiliar from him. She needed to hear it again. She placed her mouth against his ear and let her words snake into it. "I can't hear you."

"I said ..." his voice was low, desperate, his angry passion so close to brimming over," ..._please_."

How could she deny him anymore? She placed him directly at her opening and started the descent, slow, deliberate, delighting in the feel of him stretching her as his cock filled her, inch by delicious inch. An ecstatic laugh bubbled out of her as she sank fully down onto his iron length. When she felt him wholely encompassed within she threw her head back up to meet his eyes. They were alight with passion, his breathing heavy, rapid, his brow glistening with moisture despite not having to expend any energy himself.

The sight caused as much of a lurch in her belly as the feel of him within her, and she bit down on her lip to momentarily suppress the pleasure. Then, just as slowly as she had moved down, she started to raise herself again, clenching her walls tightly around him as she went. Now his head drooped backwards, and a groan sounded from him, causing a broad smile to break out across her face. He was hers entirely.

She slid slowly back down again, but then started to rise and fall with ever-increasing urgency, the burn in her own depths in desperate need of friction, of release. She heard her name, moaned on his lips, over and over, like a chant, a mantra. She moved in rhythm to it, faster, faster, deeper. Finding his right hand with hers, she moved it between her legs, placing his fingers on her clit. He needed no instruction, but they both revelled in her control of their pleasure.

He plucked, stroked, rubbed, growing ever firmer at just the right moment. She had brought herself up off him, then, ensuring they were looking deep into each other's eyes, she plunged hard and tight down onto him one final time. He stretched her aching walls once more and his fingers twisted on her burning nub. She froze, her mouth open in a silent cry. Then she shook, uncontrollably, spasming within, the pleasure flowing out through her muscles. The hand still in his hair clenched involuntarily, pulling his head back. A cry was torn from him as he came undone, endless hot shoots erupting up into her, as his seed was pulled from him by her pulsating walls.

His cry of her name seemed to echo around the room as they both came down, slowly, panting. She sagged onto him, her hair clinging to her damp face. He was still fully clothed. She hadn't noticed. She hadn't cared.

They remained like that for an age, then eventually she raised herself up and smiled blearily at him. "Let's get something to eat."

As they gathered their wits about them he said casually, "It is your birthday tomorrow."

She smirked. She hadn't mentioned it anymore. She was so sublimely happy that she didn't think any celebration would improve her delirium. She was not bothered if he remembered or not, but she replied simply, "Yes."

He came up to her and held her. "We will eat here in the evening." He stated it with his usual haughty expectation of no dissent. She had no need to, but was surprised when he then followed up his statement. "Is that alright?"

She was taken aback, and paused before replying, "Of course. I would love that. I don't want anything, you know. I mean, I've got everything I could possibly want. I know that sounds like a naff cliché, but it's so true ... so true."

"Hmm ..." he mused. "What are you doing during the day?"

"Well, I've got to work as usual, but I said I'd meet my friends after work for a quick drink, at about four o'clock. You're welcome to join us if you'd like. I'd like you to be there, and I'm sure they'd love to see you again!" She spoke the last part with a roll of her eyes.

"I'm afraid I'll be unable to. I'm finalising the arrangements for the drawing room with the carpenter at that point. You won't be later than seven will you?"

"Of course not. It's only a quick drink. I should be back by five thirty. I don't want to be away from you at all on my birthday ... or any other day for that matter."

He smiled down at her. "Come. Let's go to bed."

He led her upstairs, his arm tightly clasped around her waist.

Hermione's birthday dawned with the deep scent of early autumn dew and a golden glow breaking through the curtains. She rolled over and was met with a pair of mesmerising grey eyes staring intently at her. Her face broke into wide grin.

"Happy birthday," Lucius smiled back at her.

She kissed him gently. "It's already one of the happiest."

They lay simply staring at each other for a time, occasionally reaching up and brushing a strand of hair away or stroking up an arm.

Then Lucius rolled over and, locking eyes with her, plunged deeply into her, filling her in one thrust. She arched up to him with a groan, meeting his thrust and drawing him deeper still. He moved tenderly within, stroking so exquisitely, rubbing against her tender bud with each movement. The moment was so loving, so gently passionate, that it did not take long for them both to come pulsingly, bonded together, crying out into the morning air.

Lucius then rose swiftly out of bed, taking her hand, and breathing, "Come with me."

He put on his night robes, as did she quickly, and he led her out of the room. He continued to pull her slightly behind him out of the house and down through the gardens. Hermione tingled with excitement and curiosity, small giggles escaping her as they walked.

As they approached the lake at the bottom of the main garden, Lucius slowed and stepped behind her, placing his hands over her eyes. He leaned down to her, whispering in her ear sensuously, "No peeping."

She drew in a breath and he continued to guide her forwards.

At last they stopped. Hermione could hear the water of the lake gently lapping at the bank. Lucius slowly withdrew his hands and stepped to her side, whispering exquisitely, "You may open your eyes now."

Hermione blinked them open gradually, not wanting to lose the sense of anticipation too quickly. At first she was not sure what he meant, but then she saw before her a swan.

There were several swans on the lake, white, noble, their feathers ruffling in the breeze, but this one was different.

It was the most beautiful creature Hermione had ever seen.

She thought at first, in the morning light, that is was a black swan, but then as the sunlight glistened off its lustrous feathers, she saw a deep red shine, a ruby iridescence, which shimmered opulently as the sun's rays caught it. She knew immediately what it was.

"It is a Ruby Swan," Lucius stated plainly.

"Yes," she could hardly say the word. A Ruby Swan was one of the rarest and most legendary mythical creatures there was. They were hardly ever seen in the wild, and only a few existed in magical private wildlife sanctuaries around the world. They were rumoured to be imparted with a deep magic, granting any who saw them a life of tranquillity and love, never to be broken.

Hermione was overwhelmed. "I ... I can't believe it ... how did you ...?"

He smiled gently, not quite a smirk. "It wasn't easy, but ... I have ... connections ... and ... favours to call in. And your friend Miss Lovegood was most helpful. She was only too happy to release this creature from its former location on a dubious Siberian wizard's small, frozen pond to a place where she knew it would have space and freedom."

"But ... they're so ... rare ... and magical."

"Yes," he mused, looking down at her. "You are worth it ... you are worth only the best."

She reached up, pulling his head down to her and kissing him deeply, tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she managed to breathe out. "It's perfect."

"Like you," he replied simply before turning back for the house.

They sat down to breakfast, Hermione still too overwhelmed to say much. She poured some cereal into a bowl and picked up her napkin to place it in her lap. She gasped in surprise.

There, underneath the napkin, was a bracelet. Numerous heavy rubies and diamonds sparkled in a gold setting, entwined around the centre of the band. She looked up at him in shock. He was merely smiling mildly at her.

"I don't know what to say ..." she mumbled.

"Then it is a time to be silent." He returned to his cereal.

They were quiet for a while, but then Hermione found herself speaking.

"Lucius ... you are ... too much ... my soul is too full." She was weeping.

He came over to her, wiping her tears with his thumb, then leant over to pick up the bracelet. He moved before her, inclining to place it around her wrist. It suited her small, slender wrist perfectly.

"Thank you ... again," she murmured.

"You are welcome ... again," he replied tenderly.

At length, the heavy, intense atmosphere between them melted, and was replaced by a feeling of deep happiness.

"I suppose I'd better go to work," she eventually sighed out.

"Reluctantly, I suppose you had better as well."

"Can I wear it today?" she asked hesitantly, gazing at the bracelet adorning her wrist.

"You must."

She smiled to herself at his need to know she was carrying something of him with her, his need to show her off, possess her from afar. She did not mind, merely revelled in it. He may have come a long way, but he wasn't perfect. She would never want him to be.

Strangely, the wonderful morning they had had allowed her to part more easily from him, and with a deep kiss goodbye in anticipation of what the evening would bring, she went by floo to the Ministry.

Hermione had never been so radiant, so full of grace and joy, as she went about the mundane tasks the Ministry so often assigned to her.

The day passed quickly, many people wishing her happy birthday which she thanked them for sincerely, and even more commenting on the exquisite bracelet she wore around her wrist. Priscilla in particular was impressed. "You've got a good one there," she sighed, before leaning in to Hermione. "I must admit, although I know I shouldn't say it, but ... I always thought Lucius Malfoy was pretty damn fine."

The two witches giggled girlishly as Ormus walked passed, eyeing them suspiciously.

Hermione smirked down at her, ensuring Ormus was out of earshot. "I can only say ... pretty damn fine is the understatement of the year." And raising her eyebrows to make the point, she swept out of the department to meet her friends.

She had arranged to meet Sophie and Milly in the same bar she had bumped into them in when with Lucius. They greeted her enthusiastically, audibly gasping on seeing the bracelet. Milly worked in the jewellery business.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione! This is an antique Garrard piece!"

Hermione simply smiled to herself.

"So ... how's it going with the luscious Lucius?" Sophie giggled. Hermione rolled her eyes – so predictable!

She smiled back at her. "It's going ... spectacularly."

They squealed with delight. Milly commented a little more seriously, "He's a lot older than you. It may not be an issue now, but, have you thought about the future ... I mean ... how are you going to feel in twenty years time when he calls for his pipe and slippers?"

Hermione laughed out loud. The image she had conjured up was so ludicrous she nearly choked on her drink.

"Uhh ... somehow ... I can't see that happening. Let's just say ... Lucius is in very good shape for his age."

"I bet he is!" Sophie giggled.

"And what about this son of his? We kind of got the impression that you ... uhh ... didn't get on too well with him. That must be tricky."

"Yeah ... yeah," Hermione grew quiet. "No ... Draco and I ... never really saw eye to eye ... let's put it that way. Yeah, it's been a bit difficult, but, you know, you have to try and all that. This whole business has really strained his relationship with his father, and that's the last thing I want. I'll make an effort with Draco for that and ... maybe even for me ... we're older now ... I guess we can all change." She was wistful.

Hermione stirred the swizzle stick round her drink, staring at it. Then as she raised her eyes to the door, they nearly popped out of their sockets. Draco Malfoy had walked into the bar.

"Talk of the devil," she gaped, open-mouthed.

Sophie and Milly spun around. "What?"

"I don't believe it. I don't bloody believe it!"

"What, Hermione!?" They were desperate.

"Draco's just walked in." She lowered her head.

"Where?!" They raised themselves out of their seats to try to catch a glimpse of him.

"Shhhh ... don't make it so bloody obvious!"

"Which one is he?"

"Can't you tell? The morose, miserable looking blond one."

Their eyes finally fell on him. "God, 'Mione. He's hot!" Sophie gushed.

She rolled her eyes, mumbling, "Yeah ... if you ignore the agonised expression of a constipated ferret."

"Oh, you have to introduce us."

Hermione looked at Draco. He appeared to be alone, and looked slightly lost in the busy room. He went to the bar, ordering a drink and sitting at it. Hermione sighed deeply, she didn't like to see anyone she knew on their own, and knew with a heavy heart what her conscience would make her do. She slowly got up and walked over to him. Behind her, Sophie and Milly squealed with excitement. She approached him as assuredly as she could.

"Hello, Draco. I'm surprised to find you in a muggle bar."

He spun round, clear shock on his face. After the initial surprise had faded, he turned away from her again. "So much for a quiet, anonymous drink." His voice was familiarly bitter. Again, she wondered why she had bothered. She berated herself for thinking they had made such a step forward before. She turned to leave.

"I'll leave you in peace."

"Granger!" She was surprised and turned back. "Can I get you a drink?" He sounded resigned.

She smiled slightly. "Thanks, but I've got one. I came over to invite you to join us. I'm with some friends." She indicated her table where Milly and Sophie were craning their necks to see what was happening.

Draco was quiet for a moment, then sighed, "Why not?"

She smiled back at him. He picked up his drink and followed her to the table.

Milly and Sophie were trying to look demure but could not conceal the enormous grins on their faces. Hermione breathed in deeply, slightly embarrassed by her friends. "Sophie, Milly, this is Draco Malfoy, Lucius' son."

They stood up to shake hands. Draco by now had adopted the familiar Malfoy charm, and smiled broadly at both of them, locking eyes with Sophie for longer than was necessary.

"You didn't tell me you had such gorgeous friends, Granger." She rolled her eyes.

"The need never arose ... _Malfoy_ ... and I seem to remember that when we parted last time, we had at least made it onto first name terms."

He turned to scowl at her. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"It's 'Mione's birthday today. Did you know, Draco?" Sophie leaned up towards him.

He smirked at her, then turned to Hermione. "No ... I'd never really registered your birthday before ... can't think why." His face then became suddenly gentler, more genuine, and he spoke quite plainly. "Happy birthday ... Hermione."

Their eyes met for a moment. They were moving forward again. She smiled. "Thank you, Draco."

He glanced down at her wrist. "New bracelet?"

She was embarrassed and tried to hide it behind her. "Yes," she mumbled.

"I recognise it." He looked at her. "It was my grandmother's."

Hermione could hardly breathe. She thought he would leave. Instead he said quite clearly, "Suits you. Father always did have an eye for those things." He sat down beside Sophie, reaching for his drink.

The relief and surprise sweeping over Hermione forced her to sit down with a jolt, and she turned quickly to Milly, chatting animatedly, grateful to be distracted.

The afternoon wore on. The four of them got on remarkably well, Sophie and Draco clearly enjoying each other's company greatly. Hermione noted them sitting closer and closer as time wore on, occasionally leaning in and whispering into the other's ear, at which point the other would smile or laugh with a flash of the eyes. She smiled in bemusement at them, but could not deny them their happiness. It hardly even occurred to her that she was witnessing Draco Malfoy flirting with a Muggle. They seemed perfectly at ease in each other's company, just right for each other.

Hermione caught up with all the news and gossip from Milly, and they chatted about anything and everything, happily filling time as friends do without ever really realising what they've been talking about. There were a lot of smiles and a lot of laughter, and despite the presence of one of her bitterest enemies of old, Hermione could not imagine having a nicer birthday drink.

At quarter past five Milly got up. "Sorry, 'Mione, I've got to go. Mum's expecting me tonight. Shame your gorgeous man couldn't be here. I would have liked to have seen him again." She winked down at her. Hermione smiled back.

"Maybe soon," she said, hoping she could mean it.

"Looks like one of us has scored tonight anyway." She indicated Draco, who had his arm firmly planted around Sophie and was gazing into her eyes as she told him some deep and meaningful truth.

Milly and Hermione smirked at each other. Milly leant down to kiss her friend on the cheek. "Bye, sweetie. Have a great rest of your birthday – somehow I think you will! Bye, Sophie. Bye, Draco, really good to meet you. I'm sure I'll see you again sometime." She grinned at them, then turned to leave.

Hermione sat awkwardly for a while. She was now a very obvious spare part. She had wanted to chat to Sophie, still hoped she could, and went to get herself another drink. They had hardly touched theirs, so engrossed had they been with each other.

On returning to the table, she found Draco giving her friend a very thorough tonsil examination. She stood in mild bemusement momentarily. There was no point in staying any longer. She had started to ache to get back to Lucius anyway. She waited a while longer for them to break apart; they did not. She cleared her throat slightly. Draco and Sophie reluctantly broke away and looked up at her blearily.

"Uhh ...," she said, putting down her drink and pointing at the door, "I'm gonna go. One of you can have this. I'm really glad you bumped into us, Draco. I'm sure I'll see you soon."

He recovered enough to speak to her. "Yeah ... yeah ... uhh ... I was thinking about coming over to the Manor sometime next week, to ... uhh ... see my dad, have a chat ... you know."

Hermione smiled. "You should. That would be really good."

Draco nodded. "OK ... yeah ... maybe I'll see you then."

"Yes ... good." Hermione would have made herself scarce at the Manor if Draco had wanted, but his tacit acceptance of her presence there filled her with a sense of warmth and achievement.

"Bye, 'Mione, happy birthday."

"Thanks, Sophe." Her friend had already turned back to the blond man in her arms.

"Now ... where were we?" Draco drawled, lowering his mouth onto hers immediately.

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Like father, like son._ She had heard those words from Lucius in very similar circumstances herself. She turned and hurried out, glad to be able to leave the two of them to it.

She felt strong and happy enough to apparate to the Manor, and once again found herself in the hallway. She breathed deeply in relief. It had been extraordinary seeing Draco, but she was happy to be home and couldn't wait to see Lucius.

She stood there recovering momentarily, when firm arms suddenly reached around her waist and a hot, questing mouth dipped to her neck, immediately setting her skin alight. She reached her arm back to his head, pressing him down into her.

"Good day?" he murmured into her neck.

"Hmm ..." was all she could manage.

She forced her eyes open, looking into the dining room. She could see the table laid out beautifully, with lilies arching over the centre and a silver candelabra illuminating two place settings.

But for now all she could do was stand, allowing him to soothe, stroke, ignite her in ways so familiar but equally so endlessly new and bewitching.

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**More soon! x Let me know what you think.**


	54. Fifty Four: Togetherness

**!! I'VE SET UP THREE POLLS RELATED TO THIS STORY AND MY WRITING WITHIN A FORUM I STARTED SPECIFICALLY FOR THAT PURPOSE. THE FORUM IS CALLED, RATHER IMAGINATIVELY I THOUGHT, 'FORUM FOR MY POLLS'!! **

**PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO VOTE - IT'S ALL ANONYMOUS AND ONLY A FEW CLICKS OF THE MOUSE. **

**YOU WILL FIND THE THREE POLLS ON MY PROFILE IN THE THREADS UNDER 'MY FORUMS' - 'FORUMS FOR MY POLLS'. (ALSO THERE'S THE ONE DUPLICATED STRAIGHT TO MY PROFILE) I'D REALLY APPRECIATE YOU DOING SO AND IT WOULD HELP ME TO WRITE WHAT YOU WANT!**

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**So - how will Hermione spend the rest of her birthday? **

**This chapter starts with some interesting chat regarding Draco, an intimate dinner and then ... lots of sex. Well, it is her birthday! What do you expect? Beware - there's also some, uhh ... restricted movement, as you will see ... a girl deserves a treat!**

**Enjoy X**

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Fifty Four - Togetherness

Eventually, Hermione and Lucius moved from the hallway into the sitting room. They sat in their usual unwinding positions on the sofa, staring into the fire. Tibby had told them that dinner would be ready in about half an hour.

"What did the carpenter say?" Hermione inquired softly, a glass of idlelight in her hand.

"He is going to start on the panelling next week. He tells me he can restore it to an even higher standard than the original, although I have asked him to copy what is still there exactly." He paused before asking. "How were your friends?"

Hermione hesitated momentarily. Should she tell him about Draco? She did not feel she could lie to him about anything.

"Fine. It was really nice." She lifted her head up to him. "Draco was there."

He was clearly surprised. "What?" he said tersely.

"I know ... I couldn't believe it either. I think he wanted to just go in and not have to talk to any wizards, be anonymous. He was just as surprised to see me."

"What happened?" He sounded wary.

"It was fine between us, remarkably. He was on his own so I asked him to join us. You remember what Sophie and Milly are like – they couldn't wait to meet him. He was very relaxed. He ... got on well with them."

He raised himself as casually as possible, but Hermione could tell he was curious about what he was hearing.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we all chatted very easily. It was good. Even from my point of view. He said he was going to come over to the Manor next week, for a chat. He really seems to have turned a corner. It will be good to have him here, to see him, won't it?" She was blushing. She had tried to move the subject away from what had actually happened in the bar. She wasn't sure how Lucius would react to news of his son snogging a Muggle.

Lucius nodded thoughtfully, clearly pleased with the idea of Draco coming to see him. But then his eyes flicked back to Hermione, her eyes lowered, cheeks red. "Go on," he drawled.

"What?" she asked as innocently as she could.

"There's more."

She couldn't hide it. Sighing deeply, she said, "Well ... Draco was getting on really well with my friend Sophie."

"_Really well?"_

"Yes. When I left they ... kind of ... had their tongues down each other's throats." She cringed, looking nervously at him.

Lucius' face blanched briefly and he swallowed hard. Then he inhaled deeply and adjusted his collar. "Well, that's good ... she seemed like a ... pleasant enough ... girl ... I'm glad he's ... enjoying himself ... that's ... good."

Hermione almost laughed at his reaction. He was trying so hard to be tolerant, which was enough for her, but the effort it caused him made her giggle involuntarily. She wagged her finger at him.

"I saw it."

"What?" he said tersely, glancing briefly at her, a mild look of embarrassment on his features.

"The momentary look of horror that passed across your face at the thought of your son having it off with a Muggle!"

"Rubbish!" he snorted.

"I don't think so, Mr Malfoy!" she teased, then changed her tone of voice, more serious now, she knew how difficult it must be. "His world's been turned upside down, Lucius, just like yours, but unlike you, he hasn't so far been deciding on these changes for himself – he has been witnessing them through you. First he saw you, _you of all people_, questioning your beliefs after the war, then your marriage disintegrated, then you got together with me, _me_ ... _a muggle-born_. You've pulled the rug out from under his feet. All his life he's worked towards becoming a mini-you and now suddenly ... he doesn't know who you are anymore. No wonder he's confused. I can't deny him the anger he felt to start with, as much as it irked me. And now that he truly seems to be moving on, I respect that enormously." She paused. "If you can sleep with a mudblood, why can't he sleep with a muggle?"

He looked at her, awed by her insightful words. "But you're ... you're _you_."

She smiled a little, leaning in to kiss him gently before continuing. "They seemed really good together. Sophie's wonderful. Granted, she acts like a complete bimbo when she's out on the piss, but she's far, far from it in actuality. She's highly intelligent, beautiful, speaks three languages, just left Cambridge and has a high-flying job with a top merchant bank. They have a lot in common. What more do you want? Let him enjoy himself. You yourself said you wanted him to meet someone."

He listened silently, clearly impressed with Sophie's credentials, but still his face was set straight.

"But how could a relationship like that work? ... When would he tell her? ... Could she cope with it? Surely she would run ... I don't want him to get hurt." His concern was genuine and touching. She rested her head on his chest, stroking his arm.

"Don't worry about all that yet. It was just a snog! Draco's a big boy. He knows what he's doing. He can take care of himself. He looked really happy when I left. I haven't seen him like that ... well ... ever, really!" She surprised herself with the realisation.

She felt Lucius draw in a deep breath. She knew how hard it must all be for him. She was impressed by his fortitude and effort. Still, she slightly regretted mentioning it. She didn't want to spoil the mood of the evening. She lay down in his lap, looking up at him, trying to be at her most beguiling. She opened her mouth slightly and accidentally-on-purpose ran the tip of her tongue over her lips – that normally did the trick.

It seemed to be working this time too. Lucius looked down at her, stroking her hair out of her face, and a faint smile broke out across his face. "Let us talk no more about it now." He leaned over her, and she rose up to meet him. He captured her mouth in his, opening it insistently and slipping his tongue in to run leisurely around her wet warmth. She breathed into him, drawing a moan from him. She brought her hand up to his head, and was just about to adjust her position to gain better access when she heard a hesitant shuffle next to her. She looked round, bewildered. Tibby was standing next to them.

"Begging your pardon, Master, Miss, but you did ask me to tell you when dinner was ready."

Hermione shuffled off Lucius' lap. He grunted in discomfort as her leg brushed a little too brusquely over his throbbing erection. She smirked to herself at the power she had wielded over him in such a short time.

"Thank you, Tibby. I can't wait. The dining room looks beautiful." She beamed at the elf, getting up agilely.

"Oh ... Master Lucius helped me with that."

Hermione looked in shock at Lucius.

He glanced up at her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. "Don't look so surprised," he mumbled.

She smiled broadly at him. She loved it when he was uncomfortable.

Tibby left for the kitchen. She reached down her hand to him. He looked at it, then slowly raised his eyes to smirk up at her. Taking her hand, he allowed her to pull him up to her and into her arms. Once up, he immediately grabbed her arms in his hands and pulled them behind her back, immobilising her. He looked down, as haughtily arrogant as ever.

"You have been teasing me far too much of late," he drawled.

She could not touch him with her hands, but moving into him, she pressed her hips up against the hardness between his legs. "Aah, but, judging by your reaction ... you rather like it." She smiled her most seductive smile.

He did not move for the longest time, simply stared into her eyes. She returned his gaze boldly.

"I want you - _now_." His voice was low, urgent.

"Yes," she purred, rubbing herself into him once again. "I worked that one out already. But ... you can't have me ... yet."

He was still holding her arms, preventing her from moving. She stared up at him, teasingly defiant. "I want my food." She spoke deliberately, not breaking eye contact.

"So do I," he drawled, his meaning deliberately ambiguous.

She pouted a little. As much as she would love him to fling her on the floor and take her hard immediately, she was also aware of a pang in her belly; she had eaten little all day. "Pretty please," she whined.

Inhaling deeply, he released his grip on her arms and suddenly took her hand, declaring, "Come," and pulled her towards the dining room. She was startled and stumbled slightly on the way out, giggling at the unpredictability of his actions.

He sat her in her chair in the dining room, and took his usual position at the head of the table.

"Can I know what we're having?"

"Asparagus, lobster thermidor."

"My favourites," she beamed. "How did you know? I've never told you."

He merely smiled enigmatically. She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said you needed my permission before entering my thoughts?"

"Yes. But I also said you sometimes allowed your thoughts unintentionally out to me."

She wrinkled up her nose. "God! I hadn't realised I thought with my stomach so much!"

He laughed slightly. It was still an unfamiliar, delightful sound to her.

Tibby brought in the asparagus. Hermione smiled as it was placed before her. "Not only all my favourites tonight, but also aphrodisiacs. But somehow, I don't feel we need any more motivation." She smirked up at him.

They ate contentedly, sometimes talking, sometimes just looking at each other. The bracelet on Hermione's wrist sparkled in the candlelight. She recalled Draco's words from earlier.

"Draco recognised the bracelet. He said it was his grandmother's. Did he mean your mother?"

"Yes." A moment's silence. "How was he about it?"

She glanced at him. His face was impassive, looking at his food, but she could tell he was concerned. She was glad she could reassure him. "Fine. Honestly. He said it suited me; said you had done well to choose it."

Lucius looked at her, unable to hide the surprise on his face.

She smiled gently at him. "Thank you ... _again_ again. I'm not sure I deserve such a special thing, or one of the rarest mythical creatures known to the magical world."

He grabbed her hand and squeezed it almost painfully. "You deserve ... more than I will ever be able to give you." He spoke with such sudden intensity she almost had to look away. His eyes misted slightly but his face hardened with determination. She was taken aback and lowered her head. Just then Tibby came in to clear the plates for the next course and the moment passed. Lucius sat back and wiped his mouth with his napkin, slowly and deliberately. Hermione's breathing once again steadied.

The lobster was put before them, Hermione managing a smile at him, which Lucius thankfully returned. She was grateful for a slightly less impassioned atmosphere in which to enjoy her food.

The thermidor was beautiful and Hermione was careful to thank and praise Tibby profusely for it. After a dessert of late summer berries and cream, she sat back, looking across at Lucius.

"Thank you for organising that. It was all outstanding. I couldn't have asked for anything more perfect."

He held her gaze, a smile playing on his lips. Then once again taking her hand he led her back to the sitting room, where they sat with a drink allowing their food to go down.

They said little, watching the fire dwindle in the hearth. She glanced at him in the firelight, his features soft and gentle in the amber glow. She couldn't resist reaching up a hand and letting one finger stroke down the side of his cheek and over his lips. He opened his mouth slightly, but merely allowed her to do so.

She moved so that her legs were resting over his lap, and continuing to study his face as if for the first time, she leaned in, tracing over his eyebrows, down his nose, then back over his cheekbones. Suddenly, almost violently he moved, grabbing her wrists in his hands, and manoeuvring on top of her. He pinned her arms to her side, and stared down at her as intently as she had been looking at him. Despite the force with which he had done it, however, she still felt only the deepest tenderness and longing between them.

Slowly he lowered his head to hers. She opened her mouth, exhaling in anticipation. He brought his tongue out and moved it over her lips delicately, tasting the remnants of blackberries that hung about her mouth. Then gradually he moved further down, pressing his warm, firm lips onto hers, his tongue flickering tantalisingly inside, then out again. She let out a mewl of longing, and he moved down once more, this time more urgently. He parted her lips with his teeth, moaning into her velvety mouth. She probed with her own tongue, searching for his, longing for more contact. He did not disappoint, holding her head in his hands and pulling her tongue into his mouth, swirling, ensnaring it with his own.

She felt him against her thigh. God, she was desperate to see it, hold it, taste it. She broke her mouth away, suddenly intent on releasing the magnificent object she so longed for. Her hands searched down, finding his buckles, but he stopped her, once again grabbing her wrists almost painfully. She looked up at him, confused. Then suddenly he stood up, bending down, and picked her up in one fluid motion, cradling her in his arms, just as he had done so frequently before. She encircled her arms around his neck and allowed him to bear her up. He rose swiftly up the stairs, and went into the bedroom. Once inside, he moved to the middle of the room and bent down, lowering her to stand on the floor.

He moved a small distance apart from her and stood, his breathing heavy and rapid, simply staring at her. Hermione was reminded of the time after their argument. She wondered if this would proceed similarly. She closed her eyes. The ache in her belly, which had been present all evening, was burning with a ferocity. He stepped up to her but then again did not move for an age. Then, agonisingly slowly, he raised his hands and started to remove her clothing. Her head fell back as she felt his hands removing one item after another. He circled her silently, slowly and deliberately undoing buttons, letting things drop from her shoulders. He managed not to touch any naked flesh all the while, and her skin tingled with longing and anticipation.

At length he had removed all her upper clothing, and she stood fully exposed to him, her breasts rising and falling with her ragged breathing, her nipples already rock hard points craving his touch. He moved in front of her, kneeling, and pulled her underwear and stockings down slowly and deliberately. She moaned into the room. His head was inches from her core; she felt it dripping for him, but still he did not move nearer. She sobbed with longing.

When she was entirely naked, he allowed his eyes to move up and down her body. The knot in Hermione's belly twisted with desperation. Every nerve ending was alight, her skin electrified. She thought the lust pounding through her veins would make her explode. Then at last, taking her hand gently, he led her over and placed her on the bed. He had not spoken a word.

She writhed, her limbs pressing into the silks and velvets around her, her hands clenched involuntarily in them, so desperate was she for touch, texture, sensation. Moving her head around, she vaguely registered a champagne bucket with a bottle in it next to the bed. Yet another birthday treat. She arched her back, her hips seeking him out, groaning with desperate erotic longing into the air around them.

He merely stood looking down at her, but she saw his hands move to his own clothes, and as slowly as before, he removed one item at a time. She sobbed as his flesh was revealed to her little by little, and when at last his underwear fell to the ground, and he was there, so hard, throbbing, large before her, she could not stop herself from rising onto all fours and seeking him out, crawling towards him like a caged animal, desperately. But as she got close, he once more grasped only her wrists in his hands, pushing her down onto the bed again. His mouth whispered something indistinct. She tried to draw her hands up to him, but suddenly found she could not move them. She thrashed her head from side to side, not understanding.

Then she saw. Around her wrists were tied silken strips of the deepest red, which in turn were pulled and tied to the far corners of the bed head. She looked to him. He gazed haughtily down at her, but gave nothing away. Her belly twisted with frantic desire as she pulled her arms against their bonds. She knew she wanted it. Still, her mind told her to protest and she kicked her legs towards him. Immediately, he grabbed her flailing ankles in his hands and Hermione soon found the same treatment being given to them. Silken ribbons were tied around them, then in turn tied around the corners of the foot of the bed.

Hermione could no longer move. She lay spread-eagled on the bed, panting with desperate need and lust.

He stood at the foot of the bed, between her legs, looking down at her, his erect, engorged cock jutting out towards her. She cried out with agonised longing. At last her silence which had transmitted from him to her could not be maintained and she opened her mouth, a stream of begging, pleading, sounding from it, almost as if she was possessed.

"_Fuck_ ... god, _please, Lucius_. You must fuck me now. I want you so much ... fuck ... I need you, _I need your cock_. I want to feel it inside me. Please, _please_ ... I love it ... _let me have it_, let me taste it ... now ... _now,_ you bastard, I can't wait ... _fuck!"_

He did not move, merely stayed standing at the foot of the bed beyond her splayed legs, his haughty arrogance increasingly present. He knew exactly what drove her to this point. Finally she heard the familiar silken drawl, immediately causing a jolt in her tormented depths.

"My my ... what utterly filthy things issue from your delicious little mouth. We can't have that now, can we? Tut tut tut, Miss Granger, I thought you had received a better education than that."

He at last approached her, his voice nearly making her come once again, so smoothly erotic was it. She writhed frantically, her arms and legs twisting uselessly against the bonds which held her open for him. He knelt to the side of her. "Now ... such dirty, _dirty_ language from such a naughty, naughty little witch requires urgent measures." Her eyes widened in anticipation. Another length of silk appeared in his hand and he suddenly and swiftly coiled it and placed it forcefully in her gasping mouth, tying it tightly behind her head. She bit down on it, but could not make a sound except groan desperately into it, which she did with remarkable vehemence. She arched her back off the bed, her inner thighs soaked with her lust.

The ache in her belly was now so acute as to be painful and she found tears coming to her eyes with the desperate need for his touch. Her bindings and the gag in her mouth merely fuelled her passion hundredfold, never had she realised she would react in this way to being forcibly immobilised.

Lucius moved away from her again and placed himself at the foot of the bed. Then slowly, slowly he moved up over her, careful not to touch any part of her body. She bucked up to him, but he swiftly raised himself so as to avoid contact. She released a muffled groan into the gag. He turned to look to his right. She followed him desperately with her eyes, and saw his hand reaching into the champagne bucket beside the bed. He took out the bottle, and deftly released the cork with a dull pop into his fist. He poured two glasses, turning to her, "Champagne on ice. Well, it is your birthday, my love." He teased her with it, languidly mocking. "Cheers." He raised one of the glasses to her, taking a mouthful, before placing them both on the bedside table.

He reached up to remove her gag for a moment. She gasped in but did not speak, waiting. Then slowly he lowered his mouth to hers and parted it. Hermione felt a cool fizz flowing into her mouth as the champagne flowed from him to her. She swallowed thirstily, craving more. He merely smiled down at her, quickly replacing the gag firmly in her mouth.

Then again he turned to the champagne bucket. Reaching in, he withdrew two ice cubes. Her eyes widened. He turned to look at her, the most arrogant smirk he had ever given her etched on his face.

Hermione panted with expectant pleasure, her body tensed. Her skin was covered with goosebumps at the mere sight of the ice cubes, although it felt to her as if it was on fire. Lucius once again moved down the bed, positioning himself between her legs. She closed her eyes. She was waiting, waiting. Then she felt sensation, cold sensation on her left nipple. She instinctively jerked away from it, but immediately her body protested and moved back, the nipple searching out the source of its pleasure. She opened her eyes and glanced down. She met his eyes, his smirk still deeply written on his features. He was holding an ice-cube tantalisingly close to her left nipple, which seemed to rise and swell towards it by itself. She tried to mouth "please" to him, but clearly could not, and could merely impart her desperate need for him to touch her with it through her pleading eyes.

He at last complied. The ice cube descended, and on contact with the taut peak of sensation, there was a flash behind Hermione's eyes. The coldness surged through her breast, but registered only as a swell of the deepest pleasure, pulsing directly to her core. She moaned into her gag. Lucius had the other cube held hovering above her right nipple and suddenly pressed it down onto the tight pink bud. Hermione arched up to meet it, her head pushing back into the pillows, as another surge of delicious agony pulsed through her.

Now Lucius was moving down her body again. Her breathing deepened, the painful lustful ache within her was about to be addressed fully, and her body was alive with anticipation, ripe with expectation.

He was at the opening of her thighs, so exquisitely revealed to him by her enforced position on the bed. He knelt between her legs, then lowered his head to her dripping centre, inhaling her essence deeply. She jerked up to greet him, but he moved back. This was to be done exactly on his terms.

At last his tongue flicked out and he touched her, so gently it was hardly there. She sobbed into her gag. _More. God, she needed more_. His tongue once more came out to languorously move into her folds, parting them nimbly. He licked leisurely up to the throbbing nub of flesh at the top, but stopped before reaching it. A tear trickled down Hermione's face.

Then she felt it again on her nipples, both together. Ice. Cold, exquisite pleasure. This time he held the cubes on her rock hard points, the frozen rigidity touching her, icy water trickling down her breasts. The sublime sensations pulsed unremittingly down to her core, where his tongue met them, bringing her ever closer to delirium.

Just as she thought it was enough, that she would come from that alone, his tongue moved up, touching her engorged clit briefly. She froze, unable to breathe, her muscles paralysed before the final drop. He felt it and his mouth surrounded the kernel of tender, throbbing flesh fully, sucking, pulling hard, his tongue laving it simultaneously.

Hermione fell.

The world melted around her and she fell through it. Her body heaved over and over on the bed, thrashing into the bonds that held her. Her spasming ecstasy took her beyond her surroundings. She was defined only by the pleasure which convulsed her every muscle and fibre.

If she could have cried out, it would have been a sound of the profoundest fulfilment and rapture, splitting the air around them. As it was, there was only the deepest, most guttural groan caught in the silk thrust tight in her mouth.

He remained between her legs for the longest time, drinking her in, as her pleasure at last subsided. Her body twitched with delicious aftershocks and her mind gradually tuned back in to the reality around her.

Lucius slowly raised himself back up to her, leaning over her body and removing the silk strip from her mouth. She gulped in air, still panting deliriously. Her eyes could hardly focus, but she managed to look at her lover, just able to gasp out, "God ... I love you ... I love you ..."

He kissed her tenderly on her forehead, whispering, "Yes," before moving to her hand and ankles and releasing her bonds. They lay momentarily, quiet, still, Hermione's breathing gradually subsiding. But she could feel him rock-hard, expectant between her legs, and knew he needed his own release, wanted to give it to him. As if sensing her awareness he raised himself, a sudden urgency to his actions and pulled her up, tenderly, but firmly. He turned her over so that she was on all fours before him, and pushed her down onto her elbows. He groaned desperately at the sight of her backside thrusting up to him, still so hungry for him, and without hesitation plunged into her fully. The walls of her pussy were stretched suddenly and completely with his iron-hard cock and she stifled her cry into the pillow. Then turning her head, she moaned her need out to him again. "So full ... so hard ... _always so hard_ ... move now ... _move_ ... need to feel it ... _need to feel you_ ..."

He inhaled sharply as he pulled suddenly out of her, then with a grunt of urgency he thrust forward again to the hilt, hitting her cervix forcefully. She was jolted up the bed with a cry of pleasure. He began stroking harder, withdrawing almost fully each time before plunging ever more deeply into her, each time eliciting a groan of deepest satisfaction from both of them. Now it was his turn to express his hunger. He gripped her hips, digging into her flesh, and hissed down to her, "_Fuck, witch_ ... nothing like it ... _so tight_ ... _so hot_ ... can't leave you ... want to be inside you ... always ... _fuck_."

With that he came, his words changing into a cry of pleasure. She could feel him swell within and he jerked uncontrollably as his seed shot into her. His words and actions again brought her to a pulsating orgasm, her own moans joining his.

He lowered himself as carefully as he could, and she turned simultaneously onto her side, so that they lay, still joined, spooned against each other.

Neither spoke, but he idly stroked up and down her hip.

She knew this was what they were meant for. This is what their bodies, their souls, were designed for; to be together, always. When they lay still, in the aftermath of mutual, conjoined pleasure, it was so clear to her she could not believe they were able to survive apart. And now, with time on their hands, there was no need for it to be otherwise.

They lay still but she instinctively, naturally, clenched her muscles around him again. He had softened, but she moved her hips against him and immediately felt a twitch deep within. His hand came up, running over her belly, her breasts, the palm of his hand this time inciting her nipples to rise obediently.

It took little time before they were both ready for more. She continued to squeeze around his ever-growing cock while her hips ground against him and her breasts pressed themselves into his hands. She reached up behind her, finding his head and pulling it down into her neck. She was immediately rewarded by his wet, hot tongue, lips, nipping, sucking. She groaned. "_Again, now_ ... I'll never stop wanting you ... I'll never stop coming for you ..."

She could feel him now, a rod of steel within her. He moved slightly along her walls, causing her to moan again, but suddenly he pulled out. She cried out with shock and loss. But just as swiftly he moved to a sitting position before her and pulled her to him, placing her legs on either side of his hips and holding her above his tip. She threw her head back, a relieved laugh grunted out of her. She immediately sank down, impaling herself fully on him. He hissed with pleasure.

She wrapped her legs firmly around him and clasped her hands on his back, pulling him into her. He continued to inflame the skin of her neck with his mouth, and started to rock, tenderly moving along her.

His hand moved down between them, and their position allowed him perfect access to her clit, inflamed, ripe for release yet again. He plucked it. She mewled in delight and looked down at him. His head was at her throat. She dragged her hands up over his muscled back and placed them on his head, pulling it up to gaze into his deep grey eyes. An immediate surge of pleasure pulsed through her, and she moved ever more urgently on him.

Not taking her eyes from his, she bit down on her lip, but could not prevent her mouth from then falling open, a gasp of rapture escaping out. He responded with a cry of his own. Once again, he was so deep, she was so full. The ache of lust in her belly could only be assuaged by him in her constantly. His brows furrowed, an almost pained look coming onto his face, but one that Hermione recognised as betraying the deepest pleasure. He could not take his eyes from hers. She squeezed around him, drawing in a rattling breath as she did so, and he knew she was his undoing.

He rubbed her swollen clit, and pushed up into her as fully as he could. He saw her features frozen for an instant and he spoke, almost a prayer, "Come for me."

With that, she convulsed around him, pleasure heaving through her over and over, yet still she did not take her eyes from his. And as he saw her ecstasy spark in her pupils, so close to him, he opened his mouth in silent delirious awe and spurted up into her, his own pleasure ripped from him by her spasms.

They clung to each other, arms, legs encircling the other, unable to let go.

After what seemed an age, he smiled at her and whispered, "Happy birthday ... oh, and ... in case I hadn't said so before ... I love you too." She threw her head back and laughed. He leaned over for a champagne glass, careful to hold her on him still, and brought it up to her mouth, pouring a little in. Then he reached for the other and gave it to her to hold. They stayed like that, joined, drinking champagne, saying everything and nothing.

After a long while, when they finally lay down in bed, Hermione resting her head on his chest, she thought back over all he had done for her that day. She was filled with perfect happiness.

She could not imagine ever having another birthday like it.

But with Lucius Malfoy, you could never be sure.

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**Thanks for the reviews, as ever. Will respond ASAP. Keep them coming - just like Hermione and Lucius ;) (*runs off and hides in embarrassment*)**

**x**


	55. Fifty Five: Time

**Sorry for the wait for this update. As you will discover, this is a full and important chapter, and ... it is the penultimate chapter. The next one WILL be the last. x (*wipes tear away - seriously*)**

**I could go on forever, but take this nowhere. I had some ideas for a rather more dramatic ending, which I may still develop elsewhere, but essentially, the climax of this story was the redemption and salvation Lucius discovered through Hermione culminating in chapters 50 and 51 (And the cleansing and realisation of self that she came to). After that - there is little more to say, just some loose ends to tie up. BUT - there is one chapter to go!**

**I am also posting today a little piece of smut which my mind forced me to commit to cyber paper. I intend to call it "The Morning After the Night Before" and it deals with namely that - where we left off after Hermione's birthday ... I originally thought it was going to be the start of this chapter, but realised it was taking things nowhere. So I'll post it as a little stand alone piece. It was prompted by a question asked me by one of my lovely reviewers - thanks for the muse!! ;)**

**This chapter crams a lot in - I hope it all makes sense. Certain incidents are alluded to but omitted as well, but I feel there are certain things at this point which need only to be mentioned. There is no point going back over old ground over and over again. As I've said - I am a true romantic and believe in happy endings - but you'll have to wait for one more for ALL to be revealed!**

**Enjoy, you lovely, lovely people! xxx**

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Fifty Five - Time

After the euphoria of her birthday, life had never seemed so good for Hermione. The present from Harry and Ginny was a potion enhancer brewed from a flower found only in the foothills of the Himalayas. Harry had been there on an Auror training mission. Hermione knew how rare the vial of liquid was and was deeply touched by their gesture.

She had met up with Harry again in Diagon Alley the week following her birthday and was thrilled when ten minutes later Ginny came in to join them. She was still subdued, but polite enough, and clearly keen to get her friendship with Hermione back on track. The mere fact that she had made the effort was enough for Hermione.

Draco had also kept his word and visited the Manor the following week. They had all started together with tea on the terrace, and the conversation had flowed easily. Hermione already knew through Sophie that they had been seeing each other, but was relieved when Draco confirmed it. She glanced at Lucius, but he remained calm and even suggested an exhibition Draco might consider taking her to. The younger Malfoy was clearly relieved and encouraged by his father's reaction.

After tea, Hermione had left father and son alone together. She observed them from the window as they walked through the gardens. Any anxiety which had existed between them when Draco had first arrived had clearly melted by the end of his visit. She saw them frequently smiling, even laughing with each other. Hermione surprised herself with the extent of the delight that gave her.

When it had come time for Draco to leave, she hung back. The two men shook hands firmly, but then Lucius had reached in, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. Draco's face flickered and he almost immediately moved in and clasped his arms round his father's back. Both men had stood for a while, bonded through a firm embrace. When Hermione stepped forward to bid farewell, she realised her face was wet.

Since that time, life had steadied and progressed. Lucius and Hermione found themselves going out together in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds more and more. On the surface of it, they were accepted and even sought after as a couple, one of the most radiant there was, but they both knew that under the smiles and gushing invitations, the whispers and gossip remained. It was predictable and tiresome to an extent, but both were confident enough in themselves and each other for it not to affect the way they led their lives.

They had managed to avoid any further contact with the Weasleys, although Hermione occasionally saw Arthur at the Ministry, where he now only worked part-time. He would always say hello with a faint smile and move on swiftly. His dignity and grace never failed to impress and humble her.

She had seen Harry and Ginny regularly since the meeting with them both in the coffee shop. They had even had her round to Grimmauld Place for dinner, although without Lucius; she would not expect that yet. But he had been relaxed about letting her go. As she had left the Manor to see them, he had drawled, "Tell Potter I shall be expecting great things in the Auror Department now that the numbers are swelling." He was referring to the recent intake of new trainee Aurors, but Hermione knew it was his way of acknowledging Harry's friendship with her, and also wanting to be remembered to him.

Ron had been discussed briefly at dinner. Harry mentioned with slight embarrassment that he had been seeing other people. Hermione felt a momentary pang pass through her, but it moved on almost instantly, and instead a feeling of immense relief and delight flooded her. She was truly happy that he was moving on. She wished him well.

Lucius had not yet met Hermione's parents, but she had told them about him, and how old he was. Understandably, they were not impressed, but Hermione's happiness and radiance could not be denied, and Hermione was able to convince them that Lucius was in such good health that he would probably outlive her. She saw that they were noticeably less concerned, her mother in particular, when she told them he had a manor house, large estate and private income, as well as many business and government connections. She hoped it would not be long before she could take the difficult step of introducing them.

Narcissa had happily remained away from the Manor. She occasionally had to meet Lucius to sort out something to do with Draco. So far, that had only happened when either Draco or Hermione herself was present. The meetings, usually held in public in a cafe or restaurant in Diagon Alley, were brief and formal. Hermione tried to respect the history between them, but was still relieved to detect no residual affection in Lucius for his ex-wife. Narcissa essentially ignored her, something Hermione had no objection to.

Hermione still saw her Muggle friends, although Sophie was increasingly wrapped up in Draco, and so she often found it was just Milly and herself. There had been an occasion when she had managed to drag Lucius along to the bar they usually went to, and Hermione found herself in the strange position of sitting entwined with Lucius while one of her best friends sat a short distance away in a very similar position with his son.

Hermione still noticed the way Lucius attracted appreciative glances and flirtatious smiles, mostly from Muggle women, but he never once responded to them, and Hermione found herself so secure in the power she held over him, that she was merely filled with proud self-satisfaction when the women cooed and preened around him.

At official functions, Hermione still noticed his possessiveness over her, not that it could be described as jealousy. They were both so completely at ease with each other and their relationship, that there was no moment when either was jealous. Still, she knew he needed to remind himself, and others, that she was his, and she had no wish to stop him. She was fully aware that his demands to have her for himself were part of what formed her desire for him. Hermione noted with a certain amount of pride and a familiar tingle in her belly, that when a wizard or Muggle paid her too much attention, or when Ormus in particular was sniffing around, Lucius would silently, but instantly, appear at her side and encircle her waist in his hands, often pulling her in for a deep kiss, no matter what the circumstances.

Such an action inevitably brought a predictable flood from between her legs, and they would often find themselves soon after hidden somewhere out of sight; an isolated corridor, a disused staircase, a cupboard, relieving the burning lust which quickly overtook them.

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As the months wore on, and the autumn days turned to winter, growing shorter and colder, frost began to cast a silver white shimmer over the lawns of the Manor. Lucius and Hermione had slowly and carefully refitted and redecorated the drawing room, and had gradually begun to use it more and more. At first, it was used for more formal occasion, such as when Lucius had to entertain business clients, which he was doing with increasing regularity, Hermione was pleased to see. But after a while, they realised that the room held no fear for them at all. It was such a beautiful space and Hermione deliberately spent much of her free time there, reading, writing, catching up on work. The room and she were now completely in tune. Nothing in it ever reminded her of that time.

Although they were spending an increasing amount of time out, they still preferred to be at home, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. Their time at the Manor still passed in a perpetual erotic haze, the house itself seeming to fuel their desire for each other. Except on days when they could not be together, which they ensured was as rare as possible, they made love once, twice a day, sometimes more. Their desperate need for each other never diminished. The sex was usually now tender and loving, although never lacking in intensity, but on some occasions the fire which lurked deep in Lucius' psyche would be sparked by a remark he had heard, a look he had received, a reminder of who he was ... and his passion would turn into something more sinister and dangerous, something Hermione knew she needed and craved as much as his love and subservience.

On those occasions he would plunge into her hard, crying out, assaulting her tender flesh, and she would welcome him, exalt in the pain he drew from her, from himself. It was never as raw and visceral as it had been that night, the night of the reception, but it was still there, and they both knew it would remain. It defined them both.

November wore into December and Hermione found herself excited at the prospect of Christmas. She and Tibby busied themselves decorating the Manor – it was the perfect house for Christmas. They hung deep scented garlands along the walls and up the staircase, placing candles within them, enchanting them not to set things alight. Hermione charmed thousands of tiny twinkling lights to adorn mantelpieces, doorframes and windows. She worried that Lucius would find it vulgar, but he smiled broadly when he saw what she had done, drawing her into his arms.

Together, they had gone out into a wood on the estate and chosen a tree. It was one of the largest Hermione had ever seen for a private house. They brought it back to the Manor and put it into the drawing room. The room itself seemed to sparkle when the tree was placed inside. They had spent a happy afternoon decorating it. Such a task was so much easier with magic. Hermione giggled frivolously as she charmed baubles to rise to the highest branches and hang in the perfect spot. When they had finally placed all the decorations they wanted on it and the tree heaved with red and gold opulence and beauty, Lucius flicked his wand and hundreds of candles appeared and flickered into life amidst the ornaments. The tree immediately seemed to give off a radiance and magic of its own. Hermione audibly gasped at the sight.

When it was finally finished they sat on the large sofa in the drawing room looking at the sight before them. Hermione nestled into Lucius and he drew his arm languidly around her. She sighed deeply, then turned to gaze up at him. "Well done," she smiled.

He smirked down at her. "It is the first time I have had a tree for ..." his voice trailed off briefly, "... many years."

She was bewildered. "Surely Draco would have liked one?"

He said simply, "Draco has not been here for Christmas since Narcissa left."

She was saddened, but on reflection, not surprised. But his admittance made her realise that he had probably spent the most recent Christmases alone. She held him tighter.

"What would you like to do this year? I don't mind. We can have people over if you want."

He chuckled. "Who?!"

"Well ... I don't know ... your family. And ... you could ask Draco."

"There is no one in my family left alive that I would wish to have over here, or who would wish to come. And I would not deny Draco the need to be with his mother at Christmas."

She could only respect his wishes, but knew it was important for Lucius to see his son at some point over the holiday season. "Perhaps he could come over on Boxing Day?"

Lucius drew in a deep breath. "Perhaps." He was quiet for a moment. "Alright. I shall ask him." He stroked her arm. "What about you?"

She looked up at him. "My parents are used to me being hither and thither at Christmas." She did not mention that 'thither' had usually meant The Burrow, but realised he would know it did. "I just want to be here, with you, quietly, to be honest. Although ..."

"Yes?"

Her voice was tentative, but she knew it was the right time to broach the subject. "My parents ... would like to meet you at some point. They're wonderful people ... incredible really. I'd ... like you to meet them soon."

He did not respond. She feared she had disturbed him too much. She closed her eyes, trying to put it out of her mind. Then he spoke, quite calmly.

"Why don't they come over for drinks on Christmas Eve?"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked up at him. "Really?"

The surprise in her voice was obvious. "Really." He smiled down at her. "The people who managed to produce you are definitely worth meeting."

The warm glow inside her intensified further.

Lucius drew in a deep breath and glanced around the room. "This room needs a piano," he announced quite suddenly.

Again, Hermione could not hide her surprise. "A piano?"

"Yes," he drawled, slightly wearily, "a piano - another Muggle invention! You forget I used to play the cello."

She smiled to herself. The Strad was due to be finished in a few days time. "Oh, I hadn't forgotten."

"Well then. We shall get a piano. It will be best suited over there I feel." He indicated a corner of the room near the windows.

She hesitated, then told him. "I do play actually."

He raised an eyebrow, casting his eyes down to her.

She continued, slightly embarrassed. "I suppose I used to be quite good. I love playing. I continued my lessons at Hogwarts, but didn't bother to tell anyone. I had them before school on a Monday with a visiting squib teacher who had channelled his magical heritage into music since he couldn't perform magic. And I had intense lessons at home in the holidays, when I was there. I got Distinction at Grade Eight when I was fifteen. I suppose, if I had remained in the Muggle world, I may have been encouraged to pursue it as a career."

He sighed a little. "My dear, it all sounds terribly impressive, but I really do not have a clue what on earth 'Distinction at Grade Eight' means." His voice was teasingly languid. "When I studied the cello my tuition was kept entirely within the confines of the wizarding world."

She giggled into his chest. "Alright. Sorry. Basically, it means I was pretty good. I still play a bit when I have the chance. There's a piano in the Ministry believe it or not."

"Tomorrow I will purchase you a piano. It will be an early Christmas present."

Once again he astounded her. She considered protesting but thought better of it, once Lucius had decided on something, there was little point in trying to convince him otherwise. She smiled broadly at him. "You are spoiling me rotten."

"Hmm ..." he drawled with a hint of self-deprecation, "well ... I had a lot of practice with my son." He smirked at her. "It's nice to be able to spend my money on someone else for a change." He bent down to kiss her. She responded with an open, hungry mouth. They soon after disappeared quickly to bed.

When she returned from work the next day, there was a Steinway baby grand adorning the drawing room. All Hermione could do was stand in humoured astonishment. At length she sat, allowing her fingers to run lightly over the keys. They eventually pressed down, instinctively playing a melody so perfect in its simplicity. The room welcomed the notes as they drifted into the air.

Lucius appeared in the doorway to listen. "Bach again?"

"Who else? The Air from the Goldberg Variations. If there are such things as angels – messengers from God – Bach is it. Never has a person revealed so much about the human condition without words." She continued to play. "Thank you for the piano. It must have been very expensive." She stated it strangely factually, the music saying everything else.

"I didn't notice." He said it not to impress, but to reassure her of the truth of it.

He remained in the doorway, smiling at the woman before him, the music flowing across to him. He never wanted her to stop.

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The following week Hermione found herself once again outside the workshop of Wilfred Bessamer. She walked in, so excited at the prospect of reacquiring the cello. She wondered if she could wait until Christmas Day, as she intended, to present it to Lucius.

Mr Bessamer immediately sprang to life as soon as she entered the shop. "Miss Granger! You have come to relieve me of the greatest work of art I have ever had the pleasure of working with." He smiled regretfully at her, but led her over to a corner of the workshop. A velvet cloth was placed over a familiar looking shape. He glanced at her. "Are you ready, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, hardly able to contain her excitement.

Bessamer carefully but fluidly lifted off the cloth and the instrument was revealed. Hermione could not contain a gasp from sounding from her. The cello looked magnificent. It seemed to glow with pride at its own restoration. The varnish had been subtely but richly redone and the strings and fingerboard had been replaced and restored to an impeccable standard. The instrument was crying out to be played.

Bessamer stood gazing at it in awe alongside Hermione, who had a similar expression on her face. "An exquisite piece. It has been my greatest honour to restore it. I thank you for the privilege." He then turned to her, more focused, and declared, "But I cannot allow you to take it without hearing it first, clearly the main purpose of having it restored, so I have taken the liberty of asking young Fred here to demonstrate it to you. He is a postgraduate student at the Royal Academy, and has a fine career ahead of him, I believe."

A handsome young man with floppy hair and an engaging face stepped out and smiled at her, shaking her hand and looking deep into her eyes. Several months before she would have instantly found him attractive, and thought of him as a suitable partner, but now she hardly registered him at all. She simply wanted to hear him play. Luckily, he obliged.

Hermione did not think she had ever heard such a sublime sound. The rich, sonorous noises that seeped into her bones felt almost like a medicine, a balm, which would cure all ills and enlighten even the most humble minds. If Muggles could produce magic, this would be it.

She found herself swaying and wondered briefly if she would faint. The cellist came to the end of his short piece and smiled up at her. "What do you think?"

She could hardly respond. "Perfect," she managed to mumble out, her eyes moist.

"Yes," he replied. "I'm not sure I can part with it, Miss Granger. You may have to fight me for it." He was smiling flirtatiously at her. Hermione vaguely registered it, but could think only of getting home to Lucius.

"What?" she asked in bemusement; she had hardly been listening. "Oh, I'm afraid I need to get this back to its home. I'd better go." She turned away from the young man, whose face fell. "Mr Bessamer. You have done a truly amazing job. I cannot thank you enough. I can assure you that this cello will be played and loved greatly. What more can one ask?"

Mr Bessamer smiled at her again, then helped her put the cello in its case. She handed over a ridiculously large cheque to pay for the restoration. It amounted to several months salary, but she knew she would much rather spend it on this than herself. In any case, Lucius seemed to be catering for her every material need at the moment, as well as her other needs.

She bid her final farewell to Bessamer and left the shop.

As she walked down the street, she heard footsteps behind her and a voice calling, "Excuse me! Miss Granger!"

She turned to find Fred the cellist running after her. He stopped and fixed her with a grin. _He'll make a cute boyfriend for someone,_ she thought.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to go for a drink sometime, or a coffee now if you'd like?"

She was taken aback. She had simply not been aware of the existence of other men and their possible interest in her for ages. She felt bad for having to let him down, but could only think of getting back to Lucius.

"Uhhh ... sorry. I can't I'm afraid. I need to get back to my ... boyfriend." It seemed odd referring to Lucius this way, but she felt that was the best and clearest way of describing him to this ardent young man.

The cellist looked gutted. "Oh ... right, I see. Oh well, worth a try." He smiled ruefully. She returned it. "Is he the owner of the Strad?"

"Yes."

He sighed, hands in pockets, backing away defeated. "Lucky guy – to have that Strad – and you."

With that he turned and disappeared into the London crowds. It was a curious moment. Hermione had forgotten that she existed away from Lucius. She thought briefly about the young man who had just asked her out. A year ago, she would have been tempted to take him up on his offer, even while she was still with Ron. But now, he had merely bemused her, and she felt a desperate need to return to the Manor.

She managed to conceal the cello yet again safely, and once he arrived home she hurled herself into his arms. He grunted in shock but held her tight to him, immediately questing down her neck with his open mouth. She briefly compared him to the cellist from earlier. There really was no point. Lucius' fingers slipped down into her knickers. She gushed onto them, and the man's face disappeared from her memory forever.

On Christmas Eve, her parents were due for drinks at 7pm, and at 5 o'clock Hermione found herself pacing the sitting room anxiously. Lucius was sitting apparently unperturbed, legs crossed, reading the Daily Prophet.

At length he looked up, unimpressed, and drawled languidly, "If you wish, my dear, I could cast a spell which would propel you from one side of the room to the other without you actually having to bother to move your legs."

She stopped. "Sorry. I'm just ... a bit nervous."

"Hmm ... I noticed." He returned to the paper. "Perhaps you should sit down."

She did so abruptly, making the sofa bounce. He raised his eyebrows.

"Sorry," she repeated. He glanced reproachfully at her. She remembered his declaration for her never to apologise to him. "Sorry," she mumbled again, then realising, "Shit."

He exhaled a languid laugh. "You are too too delicious, my love." He swiftly put the paper down, suddenly galvanised into action. "You leave me no choice but to take you right here and now."

With that he leaned over and grabbed her, moving her onto the floor below him. He removed all her clothing swiftly and then his own, helped by her increasing desperation. They then began an exploration of each other's bodies which made Hermione forget entirely how much longer it was before her parents arrived. She lost count of how many times she came, how many times he had spasmed into her, onto her. When at last they lay panting before the fireplace, sated, she glanced up at the clock; quarter to seven. She rested her head on his glowing chest, smiling into him.

"That's one way of guaranteeing my full attention," she laughed.

He patted her arse, then raised himself up. He used magic to clean and dress them both, then left the room, returning a few minutes later. He held himself before her and spoke. "How do I look?" Hermione thought she could detect a hint of something in his voice. She would never describe it as nervousness, but he certainly required reassurance. She went over to him and stroked his torso. He had changed into the same Nehru-style jacket he had worn when they had first gone to lunch.

"You look magnificent." She smiled warmly at him. The doorbell rang. She noticed a slight tensing under her palms. She took his hand and squeezed it, leading him through to the hall.

She stood next to him, then nodded, and Lucius leant down and opened the door to her parents.

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They sat afterwards, Hermione with a broad smile on her face, her bare feet resting on his lap.

"They liked you," she declared.

He took a sip of his whisky. "I liked them."

She rubbed her feet over him. Lucius had been at his most charming and accommodating with her mother and father. She had no doubt he was going out of his way to impress both them and her, and although she recognised it as not being his true nature, she appreciated his desire to please.

The four of them had chatted quite freely all evening. The initial tension which had existed due only to nerves all round had quickly dispersed. Hermione's father had been fascinated to hear about the history of the Manor, and her mother had been won over by Lucius' attentiveness and ability to compliment her discreetly on her clothes and appearance.

He could work it when he needed to, Hermione had thought wryly to herself.

She smirked up at him. "You're a bit of a charmer aren't you?"

A flicker of a smile played around his lips. "Did I charm you?"

"If 'charm' is a synonym for 'made me come hard and hard and hard again'."

He started to lean over, purring his most silken tones down to her. "In that case, allow me to charm you again." Three long fingers were already deep inside her pussy. She pressed down onto him, propelling them even further in. Her head fell back in a deep groan. His thumb was circling her clit, and somehow she felt another finger, or was it two, pushing fluidly up into her arse. She briefly questioned how many fingers he had – he must be using both hands. Who cared? She hadn't realised she could feel so full from just someone's fingers and hands.

He started a fluttering, pulsing, stroking within her, all of her. Her clit urged him to touch it, but he resisted, reaching so close, but never quite there. She arched her back off the sofa, throwing herself ever further down onto his flaming hands. Then his thumb rubbed up, flicking over the engorged bud. It immediately jerked, sending delicious tension coursing through her belly, heightening the feel of his embedded fingers yet more. She sucked in a long breath and knew at the end of it she would fall. As her gasp stopped he pushed down and twisted. Her clit responded by sending her over the edge. She came, pulsing strongly around his fingers. It caused his mouth to open in wonder at the sight and feel of this woman coming undone around him. Her body heaved across him, almost as if electrified, but for once, the only sound she emitted was a low gasp of exquisite satisfaction.

In the hallway, the grandfather clock struck twelve.

"Merry Christmas," he said down to her before carrying her up to bed.

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Christmas Day dawned bright and cold, but it did not affect Hermione. She glanced down her bed. There was already a roaring fire sending out plenty of heat towards her. Lucius was beside her, seemingly still asleep. As she so often did, she simply lay still, staring at him for as long as she could. Then, realising that today at least, she had good reason to get up, she quietly slipped out of bed, put on her night robes and went downstairs.

She retrieved the cello from the cupboard and removed it from the case. She took it into the drawing room and charmed it so that it stood upright by itself before the Christmas tree. She then went into the kitchen, wishing Tibby a happy Christmas. Hermione prepared a breakfast of boiled eggs and toast and took it up for him on a tray. He had often done the same for her, although Hermione knew he still did not cook it himself.

He roused himself when she came back into the room. "Merry Christmas," she smiled down at him, placing the tray before him. He smiled up at her, then ate contentedly.

Hermione crossed to the window and opened the curtains. The gardens were covered in a blanket of snow. She gasped in astonishment. There had been no forecast for snow. It rarely snowed in this part of the country, let alone as early as Christmas. She turned to him in disbelief. He merely smirked up at her and returned her wishes, "Merry Christmas."

She could not believe it. "Did you ... did you do this?"

"I've told you before, my dear, do not underestimate me."

"But ... it covers such a wide area ... there's loads."

"It is only possible over what I own. But I thought that would probably be sufficient."

Hermione looked outside again. The snow stretched across the gardens, down into the valley and up over the hill beyond. That was more than sufficient. She had not realised how much he did in fact own.

She came and sat next to him, kissing him and stealing a piece of toast.

"I am afraid that I am running out of unique gift ideas. Apart from one or two small presents under the tree, your winter wonderland may have to suffice."

She grinned at him. "_You_ suffice."

He smirked but avoided looking at her. Once he had finished, she rose out of the bed rapidly, pulling him with her. "Now it's your turn. Come on."

He rose and put on his robes while she continued to tug at him. She rushed down the stairs with him but stopped once they reached the bottom. Adopting the same technique he had used near the lake on her birthday she moved behind him and put her hands over his eyes. "No peeping," she teased, drawing a groan from him.

She walked him into the drawing room and once he was positioned in the middle of it, facing the cello, she drew in a deep breath. She was suddenly struck by nerves; perhaps he wanted it to be left, buried, forgotten – were the memories too painful? But there was no going back now. She released her hands.

Lucius stood stock still. There was no discernible reaction from him. He stared at the instrument before him.

A wave of nausea swept over Hermione. He didn't like it. He was angry with her. She had let him down. She almost turned and fled the room.

But then, slowly, Lucius started to walk over to it. His fingers touched the wood at the top, running lightly down the neck, plucking one of the strings. A low sonorous sound vibrated through the room.

Hermione's breathing was heavy and rapid. Please let him speak.

At last he raised his eyes to look at her. "Do you know what this is?" His voice was empty.

"Yes," she muttered, barely audible.

"It has been restored."

"Yes."

"This has been in my family for over 200 years." He continued to move around it. Hermione could still not read him. "I have not seen it for a long time."

He started to walk away. Hermione stifled a sob. She had failed. Her head fell. She heard a scrape along the floor. Raising her head she saw Lucius moving a chair and placing it behind the cello. He still did not look at her.

He bent down and picked up the bow which she had placed on the floor beside the cello. He sat down, but still did nothing more.

She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Did she dare hope?

Slowly his hand came up and closed around the neck of the cello. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, as if reconnecting with something long lost. His mouth moved briefly and the instrument seemed to reply with a throb. He remained that way for the longest time, but Hermione had recovered enough to grant it to him.

Then inhaling suddenly and sharply he pulled the instrument towards him and placed it between his legs.

Raising the bow before it, he suddenly lowered it and started to play.

Bach.

The same cello suites they had heard in the Wigmore Hall. The prelude.

To Hermione's ears he was the most sublime player she had ever heard. An outsider would have noticed the slight errors, the scratches here and there, but they were nothing. The sound he and the cello wrought together was unlike anything she had heard before. She felt as if the notes were flowing straight into her soul and rendering it more complete than ever before.

She managed not to collapse on the floor and made it to the sofa where she slumped down.

He did not notice her. He continued to play all the suites from memory, his technique improving with each one.

When at last he had finished and the last note faded into the room he stayed next to the instrument for the longest while, not relinquishing it. Then he spoke, his voice still empty. "Thank you."

Hermione was still not entirely certain he approved of her actions. But then he rose swiftly, returning the instrument to its charmed position in the air, and crossed to her, kneeling before her and clasping her to him, his head in her lap.

He spoke, this time his voice more genuine and heartfelt than ever before. "You will never leave me."

She did not respond. She did not need to. They both knew she never would.

* * *

**Indeed.**

**Until the next one. xxx**

**Let me know your thoughts - I won't be pestering you for too much longer now! x**


	56. Fifty Six: Fruition

**Well, here we are. I cannot quite believe this is it. I have so much I want to say to all of you who have stuck with this story over 56 chapters. It has been a privilege for me to discover such beauty in so many lovely, talented and generous people. This was my first foray into fanfic, and the thing I have enjoyed about it more than anything has been the dialogue between the readers and me. I know many of you are veterans (albeit quite young ones) of all this, so sorry if I gush, but I do want to express how life-enhancing it has been to know that I am sharing this with people from all around the world.**

**Please stay in touch - I am only at the end of a PM and feel free to request, ask or comment on anything you wish. I will always respect the privacy and anonymity that such a site as this provides.**

**Finally, I'd like to thank JKR for producing these wonderful characters, who, even after all this, still belong to her! And I couldn't end without mentioning the delectable JI - my perpetual muse!**

**Well, I hope this chapter lives up to expectations. I wrote it swiftly and relatively easily - it was one of the chapters that truly flowed out. I had always known that this is how it would end - it just took a while to get there!**

**OK - bye for now, all you wonderful people. Please leave a final review - last time! **

**Love, LL xxx**

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Fifty Six - Fruition

Seven years later.

Hermione sat on the terrace of Malfoy Manor. She had been trying to finish a paper she had been writing on the pros and cons of using charms or potions to heal and protect against side-effects of curses and malicious spells. It sounded simple, but in reality was a complex and detailed issue. The paper was to be presented at the next session of the Wizengamot for consideration with regard to potential changes to the fundamental statutes of Wizarding Law.

The summer sun beat down on Hermione, but was tempered by a gentle breeze which caressed her skin and brought the heady scent of the rose garden wafting towards her. She closed her eyes and raised her face to the heavens, allowing her senses to take over from her mind. There would be time to finish the paper at the Ministry later. It was not due for a while.

She heard the doorbell ring in the distance. Hermione could not remember initially who was due this afternoon, but she vaguely recalled somebody was supposed to be coming. Visitors came frequently to the Manor now, be it family, friends or work associates. The house welcomed and warmed to the life which throbbed through it.

Tibby appeared at her side. "Mr Dulcimore to see Master Lucius, Miss."

Hermione turned to greet the man who stepped onto the terrace. She at last remembered the appointment Lucius had told her about earlier. The visitor was the new director of St. Mungo's, a well-respected wizard in his early sixties. Hermione had never met him before and rose to shake his hand.

"Mr Dulcimore. Thank you so much for coming this afternoon. It is such a pleasure to meet you at last."

The wizard smiled warmly at the radiant witch in front of him, taking her hand warmly.

"Mrs Malfoy."

Hermione smiled broadly, indicating for him to sit down. "Please, call me Hermione."

The wizard continued. "It is truly a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you. Lucius speaks of you endlessly."

Hermione flushed slightly, and sat too.

"My husband won't be a moment. I think they've gone down to the lake to see if they can catch some minnows. Let me get you some tea. Or would you prefer butterbeer ... firewhisky?"

"Tea would be delightful. Although, I have to say I never thought I'd have such an archetypal Muggle beverage at Malfoy Manor!"

"Oh, Malfoy Manor is full of surprises, Mr Dulcimore, as I have been told and discovered for myself many times!"

They sat for a while waiting for Lucius. Dulcimore told her of his impressive plans for the hospital and how they had been made possible by Lucius' financial support and influence. She could not help glowing with pride.

At length she heard noises wafting their way up the path. She knew the voices instantly. One was the low, smooth tones of her husband, the other high and tinkling, like a silver bell ringing through the garden.

She got up and turned towards the path, her face breaking into an ecstatic open-mouthed smile when the owner of the high voice came running into view.

At first Hermione could only see the blonde curls cascading over the small head. They bounced and sprang as the small person beneath them danced up the path, a wooden bucket held in the tiny fist.

"Mummy! Mummy! I caught ten! I caught ten! Daddy just got five!"

Aurora Granger Malfoy lifted her little legs remarkably agilely up the big stone steps to her home and flung herself into her mother's open arms.

The little girl was exquisitely beautiful and a complete blend of her mother and father. She had her father's colouring, cool, translucent skin and deep grey eyes, but behind them burned her mother's fierce intelligence. And the blonde locks on top of her hair were curled as tight and unruly as her mother's ever were.

Hermione encircled her daughter into her and held her tight, her hands curling in the untamed blonde tresses. "Ten! And Daddy only got five? Wow! You're the best fishergirl in the world! Let me see!" She took the bucket from her child, and glanced down with intense interest into it, seeing the tiny fish darting around. "Are you going to put them in your pond?"

The little girl nodded vigorously, then turned to the tall blond wizard who had followed her up the steps. She grabbed his hand and pulled. "Daddy, put them in the pond now. Come on!"

Lucius Malfoy knelt down and grabbed his daughter into a sudden embrace, tickling her ribs. The little girl squealed in delight. He raised himself up, lifting her with him. Planting a kiss on her rosy cheek, he said, "We've had lots of fun this afternoon, haven't we? But Daddy has to sit down and talk to this terribly important man drinking tea with your Mummy!" Aurora giggled at his exaggeration. "You go and put them in the pond with Mummy or Tibby. Anyway, I'm too sad to do it because you caught more than me." He lowered his mouth into a pout and the child's laugh rang through the warm summer air again.

Hermione came over to join them, encircling her arms round them both. "Hey, you know what, 'Rora? If your little fishes can wait a bit longer to go into their pond, someone else will be here to help you." She raised her eyebrows to draw out a guess from her daughter.

The little girl's face lit up. "Is Draco coming and having supper with us?"

Hermione smiled and nodded happily.

"Yay!" Aurora wriggled out of her father's arms and danced around the terrace. She skipped back to her parents. "And Sophie?"

"I'm not sure. She may do."

"Will we see dresses again?"

Hermione smiled. "Perhaps. Now, why don't you go inside and finish that drawing? I'll be in in a moment to see how you're getting on. Stay in the drawing room, so I can see you from here."

"It's funny. Drawing in the drawing room!" Aurora giggled again.

Hermione tilted her head, laughing too. "That's right, but not many people do drawings in drawing rooms these days."

"That's sad."

"Yes, but our drawing room's really happy because it has the best drawer in the whole world to draw in it!"

The little girl giggled delightfully again and started to skip off. Hermione called after her. "And 'Rora. Do it properly this time. No cheating. You know you're not allowed to. Mummy will be in trouble if you let your magic sparkles escape again."

The little girl turned back, a forlorn look on her face. "Mummy! It's not my fault! My fingers went all tingly and then my drawing went – sparkle sparkle – wow!" Aurora wiggled her fingers in the air as she tried to explain how her last drawing had magically transformed itself under her unwitting power into a true work of art.

Her parents smiled to themselves. Lucius called to his daughter. "We know, my sweet, just try not to do it again."

"Okay!" with that her face lit up again and she went off to finish her drawing the traditional way.

Lucius came over to Hermione, and entwined her fingers in his. They walked over to Dulcimore and he extended his right hand. "Marius. Sorry to keep you waiting. I see my wife has offered you some tea. May I get you something to eat?"

"I have no need of it, Lucius, although I won't say no. Thank you for seeing me today. I am sorry to disturb your family time."

Lucius sighed exaggeratedly. "That is quite alright. I could do with a rest. I am exhausted." He slumped down in a chair.

Dulcimore laughed. "She is a delightful child. How old now?"

"She will be four on the twenty first of October," Lucius answered immediately.

"Very bright. And already showing magical ability I see?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows with mild concern. "Yes," he drawled. "We noticed her ability shortly after she was born. She started to levitate objects while in her cot when only three months old. All the magic she has displayed so far has been inadvertent, and she is still young enough to get away with it, but it is difficult to have such power at your very fingertips and not have the understanding and control to know how to deal with it."

"It is hardly surprising she is going to be highly skilled with you two as parents!"

Lucius merely smiled. "We are obviously very proud, but, it does make things complicated. We worry ... don't we?" He turned to Hermione who nodded slightly. "Sometimes I wish ..." His voice trailed off. Dulcimore did not understand what he meant. Hermione squeezed his hand gently.

Dulcimore decided to change the subject. "And congratulations are in order regarding your son, I understand?"

Lucius turned to him swiftly, snapping out of his reverie. "Yes. The wedding's next month. Hence my daughter's excitement about dresses! Draco has been with Sophie for a few years now. It's about time. Poor girl – he's certainly kept her waiting. She makes him very happy. I never thought he'd find someone who'd live up to his exacting intellectual standards _and_ make him laugh. Once again, we have Hermione to thank for that." He kissed her hand.

"Yes –a friend of yours I understand? And a ... Muggle."

"That's right," Hermione replied firmly. "A rather brilliant one."

Dulcimore nodded, but she could tell he was amazed at Draco's choice of bride. Lucius glanced at her and smiled.

Tibby brought some cakes and sandwiches. Lucius and Dulcimore started to talk shop. Hermione listened for a while, impressed by her husband's business acumen, but at length, she leaned over, kissing him unobtrusively on the cheek while he continued his discourse and rose to go to Aurora.

It had been seven years since that fateful day in Flourish and Blotts. They had just marked the anniversary a few weeks before. In a way it mattered more to them than their wedding anniversary, although that was special in a warmer, gentler way. They had been married for five years now.

One night, Hermione had been sitting with Lucius, both reading quietly in the drawing room. He had said quite suddenly and calmly, "Marry me."

Hermione had lifted her head from her book, unsure if she had heard right. He was looking at her peacefully, simply waiting for her response. There was hardly a need for her to answer, there could only ever be one reply. It was the most natural thing in the world, although strangely, she was so content, that she had not been expecting him to ask.

"Of course," she had replied, equally calmly.

He had smiled a little more fully, then returned to his book. She had done the same.

It was only when they disappeared into their bodies that night, that the intensity of the moment became apparent. As she came sublimely, she was sure they had somehow truly blended into each other.

The wedding had not been a huge affair, although Lucius acknowledged Hermione's need to make it special, particularly for her. He had helped her parents (who had insisted on paying for nearly everything) with the cost of an exquisite designer dress – her one indulgence for the occasion. It was close fitting and subtle, but beautifully embroidered with beads and silk. On her hip, unobtrusively woven into the brocade, was a tiny swan.

They had had two ceremonies, one in her parents' church and one in the wedding chamber at the Ministry, a place reserved only for the most important wizards. They had invited only the people most important to them; Harry, Ginny, Draco, Sophie, Hermione's parents, Luna. There had been a small but joyous party afterwards at the Manor with a few more guests, including Shacklebolt and Professor McGonagall. Some of Hermione's more distant Muggle relatives were also there. They had not been told of the true nature of their favourite cousin and her new husband, but picked up on enough extraordinary things to pass the evening in a state of wondrous bemusement.

The next day, completely unexpectedly, she had woken up in Venice. Lucius had apparated them both there while she slept as a surprise. It had taken a lot out of him, and he had had to spend the first day in bed, recuperating, while Hermione ministered to him in ever more inventive, fervent ways. It wasn't until late on the second day that they had even ventured out of their hotel room, so completely engrossed had they been in each other.

A few months after marrying, as they lay in each other's arms one night, he had spoken down to her.

"I recall a conversation we had early on. You were concerned about getting pregnant. There had been a rumour in the Quibbler that you were with child."

She had to furrow her brow to bring it to mind. When at last she did, she was surprised he remembered it so well – he had seemed completely disinterested at the time.

"Yes, I remember," she had replied, quietly curious.

He stroked her arm. "Are you still concerned?"

She had raised herself up, amazed at what she was hearing. "How do you mean?"

"I mean – do you want to have children?"

She had exhaled a confused laugh. "Well ... yes ... at some point. Desperately. But ..."

"But what?"

"I wasn't sure if ... you did."

There was silence for a while.

"Why would I not?"

"Because ... you have already had a child ... a long time ago and ... you are ..."

"Old and decrepit?" he had drawled sardonically.

She giggled with embarrassment. "No! Far from it. But children require a different approach ... I thought you had moved far beyond that now."

"With you I am able to approach anything. To create a child with you would be the most sublime thing in the world."

She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. "How can I not want to have your baby?"

He had smiled, stroking her face tenderly, and spoke with a gentle urgency.

"I am ready now, but I understand if you wish to wait a while. Your career is clearly thriving."

She sat bolt upright and scoffed, suddenly her mind clear.

"Stuff that! They adore me so much that they'll bend over backwards to accommodate my requests and have me back when I'm ready. Of that I'm sure." She fixed him with her eyes, more sure than of anything ever before. "I too am ready."

"So be it." He leant down and gently captured her lips in his own.

He had almost immediately reached for his wand and, holding it over her smooth belly, had invoked a counter charm, removing the contraceptive spell which had held her for several years. With it he also eradicated the effects of the Muggle pill she had taken to supplement her precautions. She stopped taking it the next day.

And immediately after his spell had released her womanhood, he had moved down her body, holding her tight, pressing his mouth hard against her skin. She felt him rock-hard between her thighs and fell open for him. "Let us not waste time then." With that he thrust into her fully. He had not wasted a second.

Over the next few weeks they had continued to waste not a second. It seemed to Hermione that if they were alone in private their bodies were perpetually joined. Knowing that it may lead to a child brought such a profound significance to their love-making that their coupling was more intense and pleasurable than ever, if that was possible. When he came within her, his seed pulsing up into her, seeking out the essence of her being, she knew that that was what she was made for, what he was made for, that they were destined to be together.

Despite the fact that it had not been the right time to get pregnant before, Hermione had always felt a little piece of her heart break, as women so often do, when his seed burst into her, only to be deprived of its purpose. As she let his thick fluid leak out of her afterwards and washed it away in the bathroom, she had always done so with a pang of regret.

She had no such feelings now.

A few weeks later one night, while lying in bed, Lucius rested his head on her belly. She stroked the top of his head while her body recovered from the intense pleasure it had just received. He lay very still on her, his ear pressed into her, the palm of his hand resting next to it, fingers splayed, gently pushing against her skin. He seemed to be concentrating hard on something. She was in such a state of bliss she did not let it bother her.

Then suddenly he had raised his head, drawing himself up towards her head. She had looked at him blearily, an expression of mild curiosity crossing her face. He had smiled broadly but secretively at her.

"What?"

He had simply remained gazing into her eyes, not speaking.

She raised herself up on her elbows, a more insistent curiosity starting to take hold. "What is it, Lucius?"

"Can you not feel it?"

She shook her head slightly, but an awareness was taking hold of her. Her skin tingled.

"Feel what?" She wanted to hear it from him.

He said nothing, almost as if considering whether it should be coming from him.

She was certain. "I want you to tell me," she said firmly.

He looked down at her belly again, his large, warm hand still held there. Then his eyes came back up to hers.

"You have new life within you."

She gasped a broad smile. His face melted into happiness and he came up, embracing her and pressing his head against her breast.

She held him to her and they stayed quiet for a while, Hermione connecting with her new body. At length she questioned him.

"How can you tell? I haven't even missed a period yet. I'm not due for another week."

"It has not been long, but there is a change within you, a surge of energy. Your powers will become very strong now."

She could hardly speak, her eyes wet. "Lucius," she breathed out, running her fingers over his face. He reached over and kissed her, linking his energy to hers.

Hermione's pregnancy had been relatively straightforward. She had had some morning sickness, but the witch midwife had prescribed her a potion which alleviated the symptoms. She remembered from her childhood her Muggle aunt going through dreadful nausea when she had been pregnant, and felt a twinge of guilt at the easy life she led within the wizarding world.

Lucius had been right about her powers increasing. She had never felt so in tune with her magic and found herself able to perform complicated spells and charms simply and instinctively.

He had been the perfect husband. He was interested in every change and detail of her evolving body, but seemed also to sense when she needed her space and often left her alone with her thoughts. Once her belly had swelled and she could feel the baby within, they had often lain for hours, his hand on her rounded stomach, feeling the child move and kick inside her. Never had she known Lucius to be so absorbed in anything. She briefly wondered if he had been like this with Draco. She thought probably not, if only because she doubted Narcissa would have been so easy about allowing her pregnant body to be on show.

As they had lain like that one day, she had asked, "Do you know what it is?"

He had looked up at her, an expression of mild amusement on his face. "Well, it's not a hippogriff if that's what you mean."

She laughed and tapped his nose in admonishment. "You know what I mean! ... Boy or girl?"

"I do not know, because I have not let our child tell me. I could if we wanted. Is that what you wish?"

"I ... don't think so. How do you feel?"

He had thought for a while. "No. I wish to wait."

"Then that is what we shall do."

They both knew that whatever sex their child was, it would be one of the most adored children in the world.

Hermione had given birth at the Manor. Lucius was not expecting to be present, but once Hermione had made it abundantly clear that she certainly wanted him there, he became more excited at the prospect than anyone.

It was a long labour and Hermione was in considerable pain. There were some spells to lessen the cramps and discomfort, but wizarding ethics did not permit a complete removal of the sensation of pain. It was a deep tradition stretching back over the centuries. The agony experienced by the mother was said to improve the child's potential magical ability. Lucius later chose not to remind Hermione that during a particularly strong contraction, she had screamed at the top of her voice, "Get me to a Muggle hospital! I want a f***ing epidural NOW!"

When the child had been born, the midwife had handed it to Lucius. After showing the perfect little girl to Hermione, who collapsed back onto the bed, ecstatic but exhausted, he had walked over to the window with her and simply held her for an age, his back turned to the others. No-one could see what passed between father and daughter.

They called her Aurora, new dawn, and a reminder of the lights which danced in the sky at the ends of the earth. Wizards knew the magic that was contained in them. It was Hermione's initial suggestion, and it was only after they were both agreed, that Lucius revealed that it had also been his mother's name.

She was an easy baby, as babies go. There were broken nights, crying and lots of nappies, but it was hardly noticed. Hermione settled into her motherhood naturally and Lucius was quietly helpful and attentive, often giving her time off and taking the child on a long walk or playing with her downstairs. He never seemed to tire of staring at and communing with his new love.

And so she had grown, and time had passed, unobtrusively and perfectly happily.

Hermione took two years off work to be with Aurora. Then she had returned to work part-time, and even then managed to do a lot of her tasks from home. She was surprised that Lucius had been willing to give up some of his commitments to care for his daughter while Hermione worked. He could not always be present, but at those times, Tibby was a willing and caring alternative.

Bridges had continued to be rebuilt. Harry and Ginny had even come over to the Manor, and as their visits increased, Lucius found himself retreating less and less to his study or going for a swim when they were around. It amused Hermione to note that Harry and Lucius got on quite well, but it had taken a long time for them to be able to admit to it.

Ron had a new girlfriend. This one seemed to be lasting. Hermione knew little about her, except that she wrote for a Quidditch magazine and sometimes commentated on matches. They seemed to be very happy together. It was a relief as much as anything to Hermione.

And Draco and Sophie were getting married. To Hermione, that sometimes seemed to be the most remarkable thing of all. Draco Malfoy was marrying a Muggle. She still had to pinch herself when she heard it. But as she thought about her old enemy, who she was now very close to, she realised that it was the only way he could really move forward, banish the horror which had beset his youth.

His experiences of magic at its deepest and worst would leave scars that only a person completely untouched and pure from it could heal. Only by walking fully away from his past could he hope to move on. Sophie had gone a long way to healing the scars already, and Hermione and Lucius were confident that she would continue to do so. Her friend had accepted and easily adapted to his revelations about his wizarding nature, and was fully aware that any children they had, may well be magical too. She embraced the life with a maturity and sense that Hermione admired and respected.

Aurora adored her big brother, and he doted on her. He was often around on his own when Lucius was away and would spend hours playing with her. She was to be a bridesmaid at the wedding, and had already spent many hours looking at dresses and flowers with Sophie.

That evening, after Dulcimore had left, Draco arrived for some supper, which they all enjoyed on the terrace again. He could not stay long, and had mainly come to get something of his, but he was able to spend a happy time with Aurora before her bedtime. He was only too pleased to help her put her fish in the pond, and it made the little girl's day.

He had left just before her bedtime and as Hermione and Lucius started to nudge her up the stairs, she had turned to her father, a pleading look on her face. "Daddy. You said you'd play for me. Yes, yes, yes! Play for me."

It was getting late, but Lucius could never refuse such a request and, scooping his daughter up in his arms, he carried her into the drawing room and put her down. She clapped her hands excitedly. He went to the corner and took out his cello from its case. Hermione followed them into the room and sat down on the sofa. She beamed at Aurora's radiant face.

Lucius brought a chair over and sat down, placing the instrument between his legs, tuning it, then hovering the bow over the strings, teasing his daughter with anticipation.

She couldn't bear the wait, and giggled with wild emotion. "Go on, Daddy. Play! I don't like to wait!"

Lucius cocked his eyebrow to Hermione. She was certainly a Malfoy.

With that he lowered the bow and the rich sounds filled the room. Aurora immediately started to dance, twirling and jumping in an endearingly ungainly childlike way. Hermione threw her head back with delight. Lucius continued to play for a while, the Strad moving effortlessly from a slow piece, to a lively jig.

When Aurora had taken a final bow, her mother clapping madly, her father tapping his bow on the strings, he had finally stood. "There we are. More very soon." He replaced the instrument in its case and came over to his daughter. She enclosed her little arms around his legs and he knelt down to her.

"Thank you, Daddy. I love it when you play."

Her simple statement made his eyes dampen and he held her close, shutting his lids tightly, and whispering to her, "And I love it when you do anything. I love _you_."

With that he carried her up to bed, and after a story, they kissed her goodnight, watching while slumber gently took her. They stood for a while, holding each other, gazing down at the sleeping child before them. There was nothing so perfect.

They undressed each other slowly that night and lay entwined as usual in each other's arms, trying to melt into the other.

"Draco was happy tonight," she noted.

"Yes. He invariably is these days."

"'Rora's so excited about the wedding."

He chuckled. "I know. It is understandable."

She ran her fingers over his torso. Despite his advancing years, it was still as smooth and toned as when she had first felt it. The fire in her belly, the fire which had been present for over seven years now, ignited once again within, and her hand quested further down. She raised her head. He smirked down at her, leaning down to kiss, opening her mouth and exploring her warm wetness with his tongue. His passion, his stamina remained as undiminished as ever. She moved apart from him briefly, her expression firm.

"I love you."

He was taken aback by her sudden seriousness, but smiled and could only respond with his own truth. "I love you ... with all that I am."

"Thank you ... for ... you. It has been a remarkable journey, Lucius."

"Yes ... And there's still a long way to go."

He lowered his head again, capturing her lips momentarily before moving ever downwards to her throat and then beyond. Before her mind clouded with pleasure, she was just able to register the familiar, haughty silken drawl purring its way up to her.

"Now ... where were we?"

* * *

**X**


End file.
